


Fallen Son

by viennasunrise (kteaanne)



Category: Marvel 3490, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Earth-5486, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Female Tony Stark, Fluff, Genetic Engineering, Humor, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Multiverse, Natasha Stark has PTSD, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-04-18 17:42:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4714727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kteaanne/pseuds/viennasunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth-5486 is just another multiverse where Tony Stark was born a woman, fell in love with Captain America, and they lived happily ever after. </p><p>Or they would have... if HYDRA hadn't decided to screw everything up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to New York

**Author's Note:**

> This is still IN BETA. We're working on it as fast as we can and I'll upload chapters as we finish them. :)
> 
> On that note, a huge THANK YOU to [Arukou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou) for all the work you've done on this!!

Natasha Antonia Stark had always lived the comfortable life. She had been born into privilege, she was raised in privilege, and it was expected that she would die in privilege. So when she vanished in the mountains of Afghanistan during a demonstration for the Department of Defense, the world was shocked. She was declared missing-in-action a week after her disappearance. Stark Enterprises, the company her father poured his blood, sweat, and tears into, put up a reward of 5 Million US dollars for information leading to her whereabouts. Six months in and S.E. was pushing for her to be declared legally dead, and, a month later, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan, and Virginia “Pepper” Potts buried an empty casket in Malibu, California. The headstone read, “It is not the length of life, but the depth of life” and Pepper sobbed into the damp grass after everyone else left. The world moved on without Natasha Stark. The stock market rose and fell, children were born, parents died. Pepper and Happy finally found a reason to restart their relationship and were married a few months later. Rhodey buried himself in his military career and got shipped out to Southeast Asia. Pepper found out she was pregnant with a boy and planned to name him Tony.

Twelve months, almost to the day, after Natasha Stark went missing, she reappeared in the desert outside Kabul. The American military stationed in Afghanistan came across her on a training expedition. She had fallen over face first into the sand and wasn’t moving. They were able to stabilize her in transit but she didn’t regain consciousness. Her hair had been chopped short and her face was gaunt and sunken. Cuts covered most of her body and several second-degree burns bloomed out from the center of her chest where some kind of unidentifiable electronic device had been implanted. It wasn’t until they arrived back at base that they were able to identify her. The doctors placed her in a medically induced coma and called Rhodey.

Rhodey was granted leave under special circumstances and rushed to Kabul; he had never really given up hope that Natasha was alive. He found her, far too frail and ragged, asleep on a military hospital bed. Her face was pale and her dark hair stuck up haphazardly around her face. Rhodey stayed by her side for several days, leaving only to sleep and shower.

A week later the doctors decided she had improved enough and brought her out of the coma. For one terrifying second Rhodey didn’t think she’d wake up, but her eyelashes fluttered open to reveal that familiar emerald green.

Rhodey slid his hand into hers and squeezed. She looked up at him and her whole body relaxed. She coughed, voice ragged.

“Hey, Jim. Miss me?”

Rhodey closed his eyes, a smile creeping over his face. “Almost more than air.”

“Well duh,” she replied. She coughed again, a deep rattling sound that made Rhodey want to claw at his own skin.

“How long was I…”

“A year.”

Natasha’s eyes flashed open, panic crossing her face. “That’s not possible. It couldn’t have been more than a few months.”

“Your demonstration of the Jericho was a year ago yesterday. I was there, remember?”

She wheezed out a laugh, “Yeah, no more funvee.”

“Sounds about right. Nat… What do you remember?”

She squeezed her eyes shut and coughed again, “I remember the demo and heading back toward the base. I remember a lot of explosions… And then I remember waking up in a cave. Rhodey, they wanted me to make them their own Jericho.”

“Did you?”

“Nope.” She laughed, which quickly became another coughing fit. When she recovered she squeezed his hand, “I escaped instead.”

“How?”

“Ask me no questions, I’ll tell you no lies.”

“Fine. You’ll just tell me later.”

“You’re probably right.” She dropped her head back on the pillows and closed her eyes.

“You sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

While she was sleeping Rhodey called Pepper and Happy. Pepper cried and Happy could only manage a “Thank you,” before his voice broke. Three weeks, four surgeries, and one close call later, Natasha and Rhodey boarded a plane for Los Angeles; Natasha was finally going home.

* * *

Coming back from the dead was something Natasha sincerely hoped she would never have to experience again. Rumors had been circulating for a week before she left Kabul, and the day before she arrived in Malibu, SE made an official statement that she would be returning the following day.

They were met at the airport by countless news vans, paparazzi, and a few newspaper journalists, all looking for the exclusive scoop on where Ms. Stark had disappeared to for a year. There were rumors that she’d eloped with a Middle Eastern prince, that she’d been sold into the sex trade, or that she’d simply been on the world's longest bender. They hounded her from baggage claim to the limo and out into the street. They stopped at a hotel in downtown LA to drop off Natasha's things; she would be returning to the house in Malibu once the tiny issue of her estate had been resolved. Being declared dead did nothing but cause problems.

Natasha had called a press conference for that afternoon. Her hair, no longer the long soft curls she was used to, had been cut even shorter. It made her look more severe than she was used to. She matched it with her favorite shade of red lipstick, threw on her heels, and slid into the limo. The paparazzi had multiplied while she was in the hotel; what once was a small group could now be called a throng. Rhodey was waiting for her inside the car, hand extended, offering her a glass of scotch. She took it, downing it in one practiced tip of her wrist.

"Are you ready for this?"

"Not even a little bit, but it needs to happen. Just... Don't question me on what I'm about to say when we're in there. You can call me every name in the book when we leave, but I have to do this. Obie's going to lose it..."

When they got to the press conference it seemed like every member of the media in the United States had shown up. They hung on her every word, laughing along with her jokes. But when she made the announcement that Stark Enterprises would no longer be manufacturing weapons, everything became chaos. She told them she had a new vision for her father's company; one that wouldn’t capitalize on war. Instead they would turn their focus to their StarkTech line, clean energy development, and medical research. She promised to run a company that had a conscious from that day forward. No questions were taken, despite the shouting. She stepped off the podium and walked gracefully out the door, refusing to look back.

* * *

In the event of her death her assets were to be donated to the Maria Stark Foundation, a charity set up for her mother, including the houses in Malibu and Manhattan. Fortunately for her the legal proceedings surrounding the asset transfer had dragged on for months and it wasn’t too much trouble to reclaim her fortune. Edwin Jarvis, her childhood butler, had been tasked with taking care of the house in Malibu and hadn’t abandoned his post in the intervening year. While most of the house had been closed up and had a distinctly stale feeling, Jarvis had managed to keep a few rooms in order; he’d even had time to unpack Natasha’s bedroom before she arrived.

The limo pulled up and Natasha took a deep breath. The house looked more imposing than she remembered, more stone and glass and space. Jarvis appeared at the front door and her breath hitched in her throat. Just seeing the graying old man made her feel more at ease. Rhodey helped her from the car to the door where she took Jarvis’s arm.

She turned to Rhodey, “Thank you, for all you’ve done. But I think Jarvis can take it from here.” She patted him on the shoulder and held his gaze for a fraction of a second before turning and heading into the house. It wasn’t like he could stay anyway; he had orders to debrief at Camp Pendleton.

Once safely inside Natasha let her guard down and slumped against Jarvis. He dutifully steered her over to the sofa. She flopped down, knocking the wind out of herself, and fell asleep. She woke up screaming, biting her knuckles to try and stop. Her voice hitched as she started to sob. The room swam around her and the darkness felt like it was closing in. Her heart rate increased, her pupils dilated; the panic attack hit hard and fast. Seconds later Jarvis appeared next to her, flicking the lights on as he entered. She closed her eyes and counted, hoping the electric feeling would pass soon. Jarvis stroked her arm lovingly, trying to reassure her with words she couldn’t hear or understand.

Eventually the panic passed, but it was always there, sitting just beneath the surface, threatening to overwhelm her. All the distractions in the world couldn’t keep her from waking up screaming in the middle of the night. Jarvis did what he could to try and help her, even suggested that she try seeing a therapist, but Natasha wasn’t interested in help. Instead she threw herself into isolation in her workshop. At first all she did was tinker with the arc-reactor in her chest; the reactor she’d managed to make in the cave was rudimentary at best, big and bulky and awkward. She replaced it with a much slimmer version before she turned her attention to recreating the armor. The new reactor had almost unlimited energy output; it seemed too much of an opportunity to just ignore. She spent days locked in her workshop, tinkering with the armor until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any more. She did what she could to avoid sleep; coffee became a staple. But the panic attacks started to hit harder, more often, and with worse consequences. It took her heart longer to calm down, her breathing always felt ragged. It seemed like she lived on the edge of a cliff now, one she would fall over with the slightest breeze. The intricate work required to finish the armor started to be impossible for her to manage; her hands shook too violently. In the end the frustration, the pain, and the constant anxiety became too much to handle and she gave in to old demons. She started off gentle, the wine in her cellar was enough for the first week or so; not having a drop to drink in a year can kill your tolerance. She outgrew the wine and started in on her scotch collection. Within a month she’d turned down darker and much deadlier roads.

* * *

Three months after her return to the Malibu mansion, Jarvis found her passed out in a pile of her own sick. A few scotch bottles littered the floor and Jarvis found a suspicious bag of white powder stuffed in her jean pocket. He called Rhodey, who jumped on a plane and met Jarvis at the hospital.

“She’s in the ICU. The doctors said she’s done a hell of a job on her liver and her heart is weakened from the drugs. They don’t know if she’ll make it.” Jarvis said as Rhodey plunked down on the chair next to him.

“This isn’t how this was supposed to happen. Her coming home was supposed to be a good thing. Maybe this is all my fault; she needed a support system and she doesn’t have one.”

“This isn’t your fault. She has refused help from everyone. She hides in her workshop for days at a time without sleep. She’s locked me out and she won’t take calls. Nothing you could have tried would have changed this.” Jarvis dropped his head into his hands, his shoulder shook.

“SE’s been in contact with the DOD and they want her removed as CEO. They’re voting on it tomorrow.”

“Can they do that if she owns the controlling amount of the company?”

“They claim there’s a loophole in the company charter. Something that allows them to temporarily remove her despite her holdings in the company. They can’t strip her of her shares but they mean to remove her ability to make decisions.”

“On the whole not a bad idea” Jarvis said.

“What do you think Nat will say?”

“At this point I don’t think it matters. She’s facing charges on the drugs and I expect there will be a long stint in rehab. I’ll hold my resignation over her if I have to.”

* * *

The following day the board passed an injunction against Natasha and she was temporarily removed as CEO of Stark Enterprises. She did not take the news well. When Jarvis told her, she threw her half eaten jell-o cup at him. She was released from the hospital a week later and transferred to a drug and alcohol rehabilitation center east of L.A., where she spent three months getting clean. Rhodey visited as often as he could, which wasn’t a lot, and Happy made it out to see her a couple times. He told her Pepper was too pregnant to make the trip but she didn’t believe him. She’d spoken with Pepper exactly once since she got back and the lack of communication seemed more out avoidance than inability. The pain at losing her closest friend wore away at her while she worked at fixing herself. Eventually the self loathing became too much and Natasha decided it would be for the best if she didn’t return to Malibu at the end of her stint in rehab. She contacted Jarvis and had all the necessities taken care of so that, on the day of her release, she was driven to the airport where she boarded a plane to New York. She had convinced herself that a clean break would be easier; she’d caused Pepper and Happy too much pain as it was. Sticking around and trying to reinsert herself into their lives would only make it worse.

* * *

It was there, in the isolation of the 5th avenue mansion, that Natasha finished the Mark II version of the Iron Man armor. The inaugural test drive of its weapons capabilities in Afghanistan was more of a success then she had expected, as was the media hype surrounding it. The media had managed to make small connections between Iron Man and SE; the arc reactor technology from the eighties was dug up in an effort to find out who the masked crusader was. In the end, Natasha took credit for the armor, telling the press he would serve as her personal bodyguard in the wake of the Afghanistan kidnapping. She was careful to let them know that whatever Iron Man got up to outside of working hours was his business and she would not comment on it.

* * *

She stood in front of the mirror. A large gash crossed her left temple, her cheek was swollen, and her back felt sore. She eased herself into the shower, allowing the hot water to roll down her body and wash the grime of the battle away. Her face was sore, her ribs ached, she was pretty sure she had bruised her back. Her left ankle felt a bit tender, but she could walk on it. The armor still had some definite improvements that needed to be made, but the Mark IV was a vast improvement over the previous two suits. She would probably spend a few more weeks working out the finer details, but for the first time in ages her mind felt clear, her anxiety level felt manageable, and her hands didn’t shake. Obie’s betrayal wasn’t something she’d expected and wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on. The man had been a staple in her family for years; he’d practically raised her. With his death she was free of those caves in Afghanistan. He’d ordered the hit against her, it was his fault she had to live with these scars, both emotional and physical. But it was over; he was gone and she was free.

With a clear mind she headed back to her temporary workshop to fix the boot jets; she couldn’t have them go out again in the middle of a fight. Hours later she checked her StarkPhone and was met with countless reports over about the encounter at the SE New York headquarters. Iron Man had been spotted and the press had run rampant with rumors that he was creating problems for his boss. She sent out a quick text to her PA and had a press release scheduled for the following day.

* * *

“She will not be answering any questions.” Rhodey said, gesturing back toward Natasha. She stood quietly at the end of the stage, not a hair out of place. The charcoal of her suit played off the green in her eyes just enough that she looked alert and interested rather than the usual ragged look she walked around with. She walked up to the podium, the Iron Man suit quick on her heels. It stood stoically behind her, staring out into the crowd.

“The events of last night raise as many questions as they answer. Acting in his capacity as my bodyguard, Iron Man,” she gestured behind her, “prevented what could have been the end of my life. That it came at a great personal cost is something I deeply regret, but I stand by the decisions he made in the heat of the moment and I would ask for your continued respect as we move forward from this tragedy. Obadiah Stane, a long time family friend and employee, will be missed among the ranks of the Stark Enterprises family. He would not want us to dwell on his death, but would have us use it as a reminder of the cost of our--my--mistakes. If anything, Obie’s death reinforces my earlier decision; Stark Enterprises will continue to develop other avenues of technology away from the weapons development world. I will not continue to lead a company that has no accountability to the people it intended to protect. Obadiah would be glad to know that we mean to move forward; that Stark Enterprises will continue on from his death into a new era. Thank you.”

Natasha gathered her cards together, turned on her heel, and walked off stage. She ducked behind the curtain, struggling to catch her breath. Standing in front of the world and telling them Obie was a good man had almost been more than she could handle. Rhodey turned the corner, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

“You did good, kid.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“It’ll pass. The DOD wants to keep me as the military liaison for SE. They’re relocating me to D.C. so I can have better access to you.”

Natasha glared up at him. “Did you not just hear what I said? SE isn’t getting back into the arms race. My company, my rules. No weapons. You being out here is a waste of your time.”

“Tell me that again when you aren’t running around with a bodyguard sporting a titanium-gold alloy flying suit.”

“Nothing Iron Man uses is SE tech. All of that is proprietary to me. I don’t share it with anyone.”

“The DOD has other plans. I’m supposed to serve you a subpoena to appear before a congressional hearing next week. They want the suit, Nat.”

“They can’t have it.” And she walked away.

* * *

The congressional hearing didn’t go as planned. She managed to piss off just about everyone in the room and forced the end of the session early. They pushed for her to give up the suit and she told them where they could stick it.

On her way out she was approached by yet another government goon looking to talk to her. He identified himself as Agent Coulson from the Strategic Homeland something-or-other and asked her for a moment of her time. Intrigued, she followed him down a few hallways to a conference room where he asked her to take a seat.

“Director Fury will be with you shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.”

Twenty minutes later a tall black man with an eye patch swept into the room and sat across the table from her.

“Ms. Stark. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Can’t say the same. Who the hell are you?”

“Colonel Nicholas Fury, Director of SHIELD.”

“Not a damn word of that made sense to me and I have the highest IQ of anyone I know.”

“Very funny, Stark. SHIELD is an agency tasked with many things, but what it should boil down to for you is that during the Cold War an agent from the SSR and a civilian-turned-military contractor by the name of Howard Stark formed SHIELD to do what other government agencies couldn’t. Your father spent years heading SHIELD with Agent Carter.”

“You learn something new everyday. What exactly does this have to do with me?”

“Not much past the information your father has hidden in your 5th Avenue residence pertaining to the recovery of Captain America’s remains. SHIELD thinks it’s about time to resume the search. I think it could be the unifying thing this country needs right now. You are in a unique position to help, well, you and your… bodyguard.”

“I’m not sure I like what you’re insinuating.”

“For the time being let’s assume I’m not insinuating anything. But I do have a proposition for you. Your father spent years looking for Captain Rogers. I think you should resume it.”

“Why on earth would I want to spend my time looking for the frozen body of a bygone hero? I have better things to do with my time, Colonel.”

“Your father spent a lot of time building this agency. I think caving to an old man’s wishes is the least you could do.”

“Obviously you didn’t know my old man very well. I’ve actively spent the last 30 years of my life doing exactly the opposite of what he would have done.”

Natasha was putting up a fight but her heart wasn’t really in it. As a child, she had loved hearing the stories of Captain America. He had been her first imaginary friend. She had even named her childhood gerbil after him. But the older she grew the more she understood that the death, or rather disappearance, of Steve Rogers stole her father away from her. Whatever attention he would have paid her was spent looking for the relic. Now that she was confronted with the idea of taking up her father's crusade she had mixed feelings. It could be a fantastic PR expedition for SE if they helped fund it… But it meant tying herself in yet another way to her father’s legacy.

“Obviously you’re under no obligation to follow through on my request. But I expect you to think about it. Fair warning, if you decline my offer, I will subpoena your father's records; I’ll probably take the whole lot. You never know what might come in handy.”

Natasha sighed. She stood up and glared back down at the man across the table, “Your thinly veiled threat aside, I’ll consider it.” And she left the room.

* * *

She’d been living in New York for months. Most of the mansion had been renovated at this point; no longer the relic her parents left behind. The sleek, clean lines of the new furniture made New York seem more like home. If she was being honest with herself, completely redoing the mansion didn’t solve the problem; the house still reminded more her parents than her own. But it made it livable. Her father had always used the sub-basement as his workshop and it was the only part of the house she’d left alone. But Fury’s taunts kept nagging at her and she knew she was going to have to face that demon eventually.

When she had finally gathered enough courage, she ventured into the basement, intending to face the memory of her father once and for all. In a room at the bottom of the stairs she found her father's Captain America collection. She had always known he had an obsession, but she hadn’t expected it to be quite so insane. Fury had suggested it was more than just a crusade to reclaim his lost science experiment but what she found was so much more. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling. They were packed full of boxes and boxes of Captain America memorabilia: action figures, trading cards, a few replica shields. The deeper into the room she explored the more she found. Eventually she found a box containing maps covered in tidy black X’s along with a radar readout from the 40’s and a transcript of Captain America’s last words before his plane went down. This was the record of her father’s search for the super solider. He had been insane to think an ordinary man could survive any length of time trapped in the Arctic (assuming the crash didn’t kill him) but he had wasted decades and millions of dollars trying to find him. In a weird moment of clarity, Natasha realized what her next step was. She would help Fury recover the captain and she would use SE’s fortune to fund it. Now that she had shaken the very foundation of the company doing something that would connect it back to the company her father had nurtured might actually do a lot of good.

* * *

The Arctic was much colder than Natasha had expected. She’d spent a fortune on clothing that would keep her warm on Everest, but the biting cold on her face made her eyes water. When she set out to find Captain America she had planned on finding a body, maybe a few interesting pieces of tech from the HYDRA plane he crashed, but nothing too exciting. The PR was good for SE; the board had jumped at the idea when she pitched it.

Despite Fury’s consistent assertion that they would find the plane, Natasha had her doubts. The plane had landed in ice, or possibly in the water, 70 years ago. With the shifting ice, the melting polar caps, and the most likely incorrect radar data from the 40’s, Natasha wasn’t holding her breath. She certainly didn’t expect to find a perfectly preserved superhuman encased in ice. His eyes were gently closed, his face looked more like he was asleep than dead. The body of Steve Rogers was exhumed from the ice and brought aboard the SHIELD ship. It wasn’t until they started to defrost the ice around the body that SHIELD’s sensors picked up a heart beat; somehow he was still alive. When he was fully defrosted SHIELD put him in a medically induced coma and shipped him to New York. Natasha insisted on being there when he woke up. It was her right after all, if anyone had claim to the super soldier, it was her. After all, Fury had made sure she remembered the captain wouldn’t have existed without her father.

SHIELD kept Rogers under constant supervision. They built a set at their facility in New York to mimic a hospital room in the 1940’s. Cameras and microphones were scattered about the room, placed in inconspicuous places, but Nat knew better. If the rumors were true, Captain America had better hearing than anyone in the facility. He would probably be able to hear the hum of the electronics. A nurse was assigned to his room in 8 hours shifts, making sure that when he did wake up, he wouldn’t wake up alone. After a few days of waiting and feeling bored enough to start slamming her head against the wall, Natasha volunteered for a shift. The process of dressing for the 1940’s wasn’t one she expected to like, but the elegant way SHIELD pinned back her dark hair and the stark color of the red lipstick against her pale face made it worth it. She put on a set of Army nurse fatigues and settled in a chair next to the Captain’s bed.

She spent a long time studying his face, the strong line of his jaw, the perfect upturn of his Cupid's-bow. His eyes looked soft, even though they remained closed, and there was something peaceful about his expression. He looked like he was completely at peace with the world; like he hadn’t been suspended in time for 70 years after a traumatic plane crash. His hair was a very pleasant pale blonde. It was just long enough on top that it swooped over his forehead and curled a bit at the ends. He had a distinctly 40’s hair cut, short on the sides and long on top. It was a trend that had started to come back in fashion and Natasha was grateful for it. His arms were bigger than her thighs, strong and toned. They met broad, sculpted shoulders. When the government claimed they made the perfect human being, they meant perfect in every way. Well, every way Natasha could see… His hands were big; they looked soft and gentle but strong. She got lost staring at him, at his perfection. She had been worried that 8 hours in a hard metal chair would be too boring, that she should have smuggled in one of the new StarkPad’s, but her mind was completely occupied with the man lying next to her.

Her mind had wandered while she stared at his lips when he started to stir. His eyes fluttered and finally opened. He looked up at the ceiling, a strange look on his face, before he turned over to Natasha.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“You’re in a recovery room in New York City.”

He sat up, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles. Natasha could see his back flex from beneath his thin white T-shirt. Not a bad view, she thought wryly.

“No… Where am I really?”

“Captain Rogers,” she started. SHIELD had been very specific on what she was and was not allowed to say. “I assure you. You are in New York City.”

“Nice try. That baseball game,” he pointed to the radio, “is from 1941. I know because I was there. Where am I?”

“I—“ she broke off. Captain America stood up--he was taller than she’d expected--looking for an escape. He made for the door when three armed SHIELD agents burst in. They advanced on him, tasers pointed at his chest, and advised him to remain calm. Natasha lost her cool and jumped to her feet. “Don’t! Just tell him the truth. You can’t shoot him!”

“Stand down, Ms. Stark,” the voice from her com unit made her jump.

She made to stand between Captain America and the agents but Rogers acted before she had a chance and threw one of them against the wall. It caved easily and the Captain jumped out, over the agent, and darted from the room.

“Well that could have gone better.” Natasha said to the room at large.

 


	2. Working Man

_“She suspects nothing.” The man confirmed._

_“Very well,” sneered Lukin. “Dr. Zola, the operation is in your hands now. I have other matters to attend to.” And with the sharp snap of twisting leather he swept from the room._

_“He has always been one for the dramatics.” nodded Zola as he turned his attention to the vials set on the table before him. “Fetch me the others, Brock. We have much work to do.”_

_The other left the room, shutting the heavy steel door behind him quietly. This, thought Zola, will be my greatest achievement._

* * *

_“She is putting up much more of a fight than I expected.”_

_“We do not have time for you to play games, doctor. Finish the task or cut her loose.”_

* * *

_“It is a success. Brock found a way to subdue her. Now all we have to do is wait.”_

_“And how long do you expect we will have to wait, Doctor?”_

_“If my calculations are correct the gestation period should be accelerated. Four, maybe five months.”_

_“I am counting on you doctor. Much depends on this plan of yours.”_

_“Do not worry, Herr Lukin.”_

* * *

_“I cannot explain what happened. The serum used to create the Red Skull was never stable but I modified it for this project. Rejection should not have been possible.”_

_“It is no matter, doctor. Take what you need from her and cut her loose.”_

_“I believe we could have a chance if we tried again, Herr Kommandant.”_

_“I said, cut her loose.”_

_“Wenn du das sagen, Führer.”_

* * *

_“I thought I told you to cut her loose.”_

_“You did. There were… unexpected complications.”_

_“This is unacceptable, Doctor. If she is to survive this, I must know that we will, in the end, have use for her.”_

_“We will, Herr Kommandant. There are rumors circulating at SHIELD that they will resume searching for the Captain soon. If they find him, he will provide exactly what we need.”_

 


	3. Blank Space(s)

“Stark, command deck. Now.” Nick Fury’s terse voice crackled through her com unit.

She slipped out of her heels, snatching them up with one hand before turning away from the mess Rogers had made, stomping up to see Fury. By the time she reached the command deck she’d managed to pull her hair out of its Victory Rolls and unceremoniously torn off her heels. She slammed the door open, ready to round on Fury.

“I’ve already got someone on it,”  Fury he said, his eye resting on Natasha’s face “He’ll be back here and debriefed within the hour.”

“It’s your funeral when he loses it on one of your guys. I told you from the get-go we should have just told him the truth.”

“It’s not your call to make. I funded half the expedition, I funded the recovery. I make the call.”

“Fuck you, Nick.” She threw her shoes on the table. “When you practically begged me to sign on to this you made it sound like I had some say in the decisions. It was my father who dumped millions into finding him. Not to mention that tiny detail of how he wouldn’t exist if my father hadn’t been a part of Project: Rebirth. Don’t get all ‘I’m the government, fear me’ on me.” Natasha stood across the table from Fury, fuming.

“This is a pointless argument. What’s done is done. Sit down. I have something else I want to talk to you about.”

Grudgingly, Natasha sat down, folded her arms across her chest, and continued her death glare at Fury.

“By this point,” he started, sliding several manila file folders across the table to her, “You’ve heard of a few of these people.”

She opened a few at random. One contained a stack of papers an inch thick on a scientist by the name of Hank Pym. That name rang a bell. She was pretty sure she’d heard her father talk about him. Another file contained a few pieces of paper on a woman named Natalia Romanova, codename: Black Widow, with a last known address and list of recent SHIELD missions she successfully completed. The third she opened, the thickest of the folders, was about a man named Bruce Banner.

“I’ve heard of a few of these. Hank Pam rings a bell and it’s hard to be breathing and not have heard of the Hulk.”

“These,” Fury gestured to the stack, “make up the short list of people selected for the Avengers Initiative. If you dig far enough down your friend Iron Man is on that list.”

“I’m sure he’ll be overjoyed,” she said flatly. “What’s the point in showing me all this.”

“SHIELD has recently had funding pulled by congress due to budget cuts. We’re looking for an investor and you seemed like the logical choice.”

“You’re asking me for money,” she said, her eyebrows disappearing into her hairline, “after ignoring my suggestion on how to deal with Rogers. If that’s any indication of how our working relationship would be, no thanks. I’ll pass.”

Fury furrowed his brow, irritation clear on his face. “Rogers is government property. Working on the Avengers Initiative is completely different. Meet me halfway here, Stark.”

“On what planet do you think I would even want to meet you halfway? Working with the government agency my father helped create doesn’t exactly make it onto my bucket list.”

“The spoiled rich girl card is a little overplayed, don’t you think? This is something that could negate SE’s involvement in the arms race.” Fury stood up and collected the folders back.

Fury’s words struck Natasha in a way she didn’t expect and all of a sudden she felt like she had to be involved with the initiative. She stared back at him, thinking.

“If I agree to be a part of this, I have a few demands.”

“I’m not surprised.” 

“Iron Man’s identity stays with me. I’m not selling him out for this.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“Iron Man is the de facto team leader.”

“No can do there, Stark. That position has always belonged to Captain America. The most I can offer him is second-in-command.”

“No deal. He and Rogers lead the team together.”

“I’ll consider it. Anything else?”

“I get final say on who we add to the team.”

“You and I can make that decision together.”

Natasha meant to glare back at him, but she suddenly lost the will to fight with Nick. “I think I can work with that. I was thin—“

“Sir,” Agent Coulson had poked his head in around the door. “Captain Rogers is back and would like to speak with you.”

Natasha stood up to leave but Fury motioned for her to sit back down. She walked over to the corner instead.

“Send him in.” Fury replied.

Captain America was debriefed by Fury while Natasha stood silently in the corner of the room. He looked over at her every few minutes; she could feel his eyes boring into her skull when she wasn’t looking. Eventually Fury commented on the distraction.

“This is Natasha Stark, Howard’s daughter.”

The look on the Captain's face shifted only minutely, his eyes got just a bit wider. He stared at her for a long moment before saying anything. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Stark.”

“Likewise, Capsicle,” and she winked at him.

He flushed all the way up to the tips of his ears.

“Well that’s adorable,” she said, taking a seat at the table again.

The Captain didn’t say anything in response, just dropped his gaze to his hands.

“At any rate,” Fury continued, “we have an assignment for you, Captain. It is called the Avengers Initiative.”

They hammered out the details with the Captain for the next few hours. Natasha offered, and Fury accepted, to house the team at the 5th Avenue mansion. She would relocate to the penthouse suite in Stark Tower. Captain America agreed to lead the team with Iron Man and they selected six candidates to form the core of the team: Clint Barton, Natalia Romanova, Bruce Banner, a Norse god named Thor, Hank Pym, and Janet van Dyne. Each was extended an offer to join the team and each, some with slight reservation, accepted the post. A month after Captain America’s recovery, the team had settled in the mansion, albeit a bit awkwardly.

* * *

Initially the team didn’t mesh very well. Barton seemed preoccupied with his phone, Romanova spent too much time training in the gym Natasha had built in the basement, Banner stayed locked in his room. Janet van Dyne and Hank Pym clearly had a past that was going to interfere with their work on the team, and Thor, while technically part of the team, spent a lot of time not on earth. None of them seemed to mesh well and they were all too used to working alone.

Iron Man spent a lot of time with the Captain, hammering out training plans, tactical strategies, and the other mind-numbing decisions that seemed to come from leading a team. Natasha had to restrain herself from smacking her head against the inside of the helmet on more than one occasion. Rogers clearly understood what leading a group of soldiers meant, but not everything translated to their unique situation; the two of them came to blows over it several times.

Natasha’s involvement as Natasha was strained at best. Occasionally she would visit the mansion under the guise of visiting Iron Man but the most she got out of the rest of the team was a curt nod. Rogers made a point to exit a room the minute she appeared, so it took her several weeks to manage to track him down.

He was sitting in an arm chair in the library, books scattered around him haphazardly. Natasha slipped into the room and softly shut the door behind her. She stared at him for a minute, studying the crease of concentration on his forehead.

“Nowhere to run this time,” she called from the door.

She’d expected him to jump but he turned the page of his book unfazed, “There really doesn’t seem to be a point to it anymore.” He didn’t even bother to look up.

Natasha crossed the room and sat on the floor in front of him. She hugged her knees to her chest and looked up at him.

“Then why have you been avoiding me?”

“Because I wasn’t really looking to have this conversation.” He shifted, his blue eyes locking with her green.

“And what conversation are we having?”

That seemed to pull him up short. He set the book down next to him, moving his gaze to just above her shoulder.

“The one where you interrogate me about your father, Project: Rebirth, and pretty much anything else you feel like asking.”

The look on his face made her hesitate; it was like he was in mourning.

“Fury told me you’ve been avoiding the mandated psych eval. I’m usually all for flipping them the bird, but you’re in a bit of a unique situation here, Solider. Maybe I shouldn’t be the one having this conversation with you…” She broke off. This was a terrible idea.

“Someone probably needs to. But you could have sent your lapdog instead of coming yourself.”

“If you’re referring to Iron Man, I can’t make that man do a damned thing. He’d be content to stay in the suit 100% of the time, throw away any personal life he ever had, and go out in some kind of blaze of glory. Not really the role model I was hoping you’d find. Not that I’m much better.”

“I heard about Afghanistan. Fury debriefed me on it.”

Anger, hot and violent, bubbled up in Natasha’s chest. She knew it was irrational, knew that Fury was the kind of S.O.B. who would think he had the right to do that, but suddenly she wanted to punch something.

“Sorry,” he said, seeing the look on her face, “maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s fine,” she said with gritted teeth, “I’m not overly fond of talking about that particular blip in my life. Fury’s a bit of a bastard though, so I should have expected it.”

“Well…” he rubbed the back of his neck, “let’s just say I know the feeling. I’m not exactly ecstatic to talk to anyone about… before.”

Natasha stood up, brushing her slacks back into place. “And I’m not going to make you. You’re free to choose for yourself. But you should to talk to someone about it. I didn’t and I ended up passed out in a pile of puke, barely alive.”

“I can’t puke. Superhuman, remember?” He looked at her, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

“Very funny. You know what I mean. If you want to talk to someone, my door, or rather tower, is always open. Just let Iron Man know and he can get ahold of me.”

“Thank you for the offer, Ms. Stark.”

“It’s Natasha.”

“Well then thank you, Natasha.”

* * *

Two weeks later Natasha was elbow deep in the Iron Man repairs when Jarvis entered her workshop.

“Natasha, it has been three days since you’ve come upstairs. I believe it is time for a break.”

“I can’t right now, J. I think I finally figured out what’s been going on with the microcircuitry where the helmet connects to the neck struts.”

Jarvis made his way across the room, picking up stray Chinese takeout boxes on his way. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice, Ma’am. Captain Rogers is waiting in the living room. He said he has an open invitation and would like to speak with you.”

For reasons completely unknown to Natasha, her stomach decided to start doing flips. She set the armor section she’d been working with down onto the table and stood up. “Thanks, J. Tell him I’ll be up in a minute.”

Jarvis left the room just as quietly as he had entered. Natasha silently thanked herself for keeping a spare change of clothes next to the decontamination shower. At least she wouldn’t greet Captain America with grease streaked across her chest. She washed off the filth of the last fews days, threw on her spare clothes, and headed to the elevator.

Rogers was sitting on the couch, his back turned toward the hallway. Natasha could tell he’d had a haircut since she last saw him, but was pleased to see that he’d kept it the same style. She padded along the hallway barefoot and jumped over the back of the couch, settling down cross-legged, facing him.

“Hey there, Soldier. What’s up?”

He shifted on the couch to face her. “The mansion was getting to be a bit much so I went for a walk and… I kind of just ended up here. I hope you don’t mind. Iron Man told me where the tower was and how to get up to the penthouse.”

You bet he did. “Don’t worry about it. Looking for a distraction?”

“Couldn’t hurt.”

“Well I haven't eaten in at least 36 hours. Hungry?”

“Always.”

Natasha jumped back over the couch and headed into the kitchen. She ruffled through the takeout drawer, looking for the menu of her favorite Thai place. She turned to head back to the couch but smacked right into Captain America’s chest. She stumbled a bit before he grabbed her shoulders, steadying her.

“Ahem… Um, this is the best takeout place in the city. I have negative interest in going out so the food is going to have to come to us. How does Thai sound?”

He lowered his hands and took a step back looking confused.

“Shit, I forgot. The whole takeout thing is probably new, huh?” She opened the takeout drawer again and handed him three different pizzeria menus. “Here, you pick.”

“Um…” He looked down at the menus before tossing them onto the counter.

Natasha laughed. “You’re really not good with the ‘more than two choices’ thing, are you, Cap?”

“More like I’m not good with the ‘more than one choice’ thing. You know, you’re allowed to call me Steve.”

“Alright then, Steve. I’m introducing you to pepperoni.”

* * *

The pizza showed up faster than Natasha expected but it was probably for the best. Steve looked like he wanted to talk about something and she wasn’t really up for it on an empty stomach. They occupied their time together with idle chatter, how was Steve adjusting to life with the Avengers, was Barton as much of a pain in the ass as Natasha expected, how did he like working with Iron Man?

“So, Steve, not that the lunch date wasn’t nice or anything, but why did you end up here?”

Steve flushed and rubbed the back of his neck. For such a massive figure, he suddenly looked very small. “Well… You were right when you said I needed to talk to someone. There’s no way I’m talking to one of Fury’s lap dogs and talking to the others probably isn’t best if I’m supposed to be leading them. They don’t need to hear me whine about my past. I’d tell Iron Man, but he doesn’t seem the listening type. So I’m back to you… And you offered… So here I am.”

“It’s a sad world you live in, Steve, if I’m the only one left to talk to.” She meant to say that like a joke, but somehow it sounded hollow.

Steve looked up at her, “I don’t think so. You’ve got experience with this stuff… In the end I probably would have asked you if you hadn’t offered.”

“Well, I’m all ears.” She adjusted herself on the couch so she was facing him again.

He shifted uncomfortably, planting both feet on the ground, hunching over. He started at the beginning, the story everyone already knew, about how a scrawny kid from Brooklyn ended up as the government's science project. He talked about the war, how they’d wasted his time making him sell war bonds before he finally made it to Europe and saved his best friend from the Nazis.

“The Austrian Alps were beautiful, all these massive snow capped mountains and deep river valleys. I’ll never understand how somewhere so beautiful played out as a backdrop to something so repulsive.” Steve paused his story, lost in memories from a war he never saw the end of. “All of it, I don’t think I’ll ever understand it. I saved him once, but he still died. I’ll never forget what it looked like when he fell. It should have been me. He looked up to me, he was just a kid. I should have left him behind at Camp Lehigh.” If it was possible, Steve’s shoulders slumped even further.

Throwing caution to the wind, she shifted next to him and placed an arm around his waist, resting her cheek on his bicep. He tensed, but didn’t move away, allowing her to try and comfort him. Eventually he relaxed and patted her on the knee.

“Thanks… For listening. It’s not even half of what’s knotted up in my chest, but I think it helped.”

“Sure thing, Cap.” Natasha suddenly became very aware of how close to Steve she was sitting. She withdrew her arm and readjusted herself on the sofa. “It sucks, but it’s better than the alternative.”

“Not sure I believe you just yet, but I guess I can try.”

* * *

Steve started to make a habit of showing up at the tower unannounced. He and Natasha started spending a few evenings a week eating pizza and talking. Sometimes Steve would talk about the war, sometimes Natasha would consider telling him about Afghanistan. Most of the time Natasha made him try new foods and forced him into the 20th century one pop-culture movie at a time. Steve was a good sport; Thai food had become a new favorite but he hated Star Wars, a fact Natasha refused to acknowledge. Captain America, in her opinion, was not allowed to not love the greatest movie franchise of all time (well, if you ignored Episodes I-III).

Natasha caught herself being disappointed the nights Steve didn’t stop by the tower. He never made a pattern of it, so she was often left wondering when, or if, he would show up. She didn’t know much about his schedule outside of Avenger’s duties, but the impulse to surprise him at the mansion eventually won out.

She arrived at the mansion just before dinner time to find it mostly empty. Barton and the Widow were out on a SHIELD assignment in Washington state, Thor was dealing with something back in Asgard again, and Bruce was away lecturing at a conference in San Francisco. Iron Man was supposedly locked away in his room upgrading the armor; she’d needed a reason to keep him out of her hair for the evening. She found Steve sitting alone in the library again, surrounded by half a dozen books and looking distraught.

“Whatcha reading there, solider?” She asked, perching on the arm of his chair.

He looked up at her, his face tired, “Just trying to figure out what gamma radiation actually is. Iron Man mumbled something about it before he locked himself in his room. I know Banner’s the expert, but he’s not here. I can’t figure it out.”

Natasha laughed at the memory; she didn’t think he’d heard her when she’d said it.

“Well, Banner is the expert… It’s kind of what caused the whole Hulk situation.”

Steve’s mouth dropped. “Oh… Guess I shouldn’t ask him then, huh? Can you explain it?”

“I could if I wanted to, but you look too tired to follow.”

Almost on cue Steve yawned. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Anyway, why are you here so late? Did you need Iron Man? He locked himself up like an hour ago.”

“Nope. I came to see you, actually.”

He shifted in the chair, angling his body toward her, “Why?”

“Eh, you hadn’t been by the tower in a few days. I thought I’d come see how you were doing.” Good, she was keeping her cool. No need to tell him how much she was starting to need him around.

“Yeah… I kind of figured you’d had enough of me for a while. I came over like four times last week. I didn’t want to impose.”

Natasha laughed before she could think better of it. Steve looked mortified.

“No, no!” she said, attempting to sober herself, “I told you to come over whenever you wanted.” In a moment of bravery (or maybe insanity) she added, “Plus, I like having you there. You were missed.”

Steve looked up at her, a strange expression crossing his face, before a wide smile broke across it. Natasha felt like she was looking at the sun. “I’m glad I was missed. So were you.” He rested his hand on her knee. A warmth crept across her face as she set her hand on top of his and squeezed.

“Um…” Steve choked out, “Can I ask you something.”

“Sure thing.”

“Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Not currently, no.” She smiled at him. HIs face had turned a delicate shade of pink that spread to the tips of his ears.

“Good. Would you maybe, if you’re not too busy, want to go out to dinner with me?”

“Of course. Just so we’re clear though… This is a date, yes?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Good.” She smiled back at him, squeezing his hand again for good measure. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, Solider.” She ruffled his hair before standing up. She made to leave the room, but he reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Natasha turned around to find Steve standing much closer than she’d expected. He tugged on her wrist, pulling her forward, and wrapped his arms around her waist. She leaned into his touch, burying her face in his chest, as he pulled his arms around her tight.

“See you tomorrow.” He said.

 


	4. Tiptoe

 

_“SHIELD has succeeded. The Avenger Initiative has taken off with Captain Rogers acting as team leader.” Rumlow reported over the com unit._

_“And you are quite sure he is truly Captain America, yes?” Zola asked._

_“Affirmative. A few of the men that report to me were in the arctic at the extraction point. It’s him, sir.”_

_“Good. We will commence Operation Spinner. You know your orders. Do not return until you’ve obtained the vial. Understood?”_

_“Yes, sir.” Brock’s com cut off sharply._

* * *

_“We have a problem.”_

_“Considering you have not completed your mission and I still have to dane to speak with you, I would agree.”_

_“We can’t find Captain America.”_

_“Begging pardon?”_

_“The intel coming out of Captain America’s recovery was that he would be stationed either on the helicarrier or at a SHIELD base somewhere in New York. Fury seems to know where he is, but anyone below the ULTRA security clearance is in the dark.”_

_“He is a super solider from the nineteen-forties with no knowledge of modern technology working for a government agency that we have functional control of. I do not expect finding him will be a problem. If the Avengers Initiative is still in place he will show himself soon enough. If a distraction is needed, I can provide one, but it would be in your best interest not to ask that of me.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

* * *

_“We have it, sir.” Rumlow said, his breathing labored. “Iron Man attempted to intercept the Asset but he’s been neutralized for the moment.”_

_“Good. Where are you? We will send an extraction unit.”_

_“Sending you our coordinates now.”_

* * *

_“What is the expected gestation rate, doctor?”_

_“Much the same as our last attempt. This vessel is much more amiable to our needs thanks to Doctor Faustus’s efforts. I predict we will have a viable fetus less than six months from now, providing I am left to my work.”_

_“You shall be, provided I see the results I have been promised.”_

_“You will, Herr Lukin.”_

_“We have discussed this. You are to use my proper name when the inner circle is present. Only when outsiders visit must we keep up pretenses.”_

_“Yes, Herr Schmidt.”_

****  
  



	5. Shake it Off

Working with the Avengers ended up being a little more complicated than Natasha had expected. Had things gone as planned, it wouldn’t have been an issue. She could have remained an aloof investor who occasionally stopped by the mansion to be annoying. Iron Man could have maintained a professional relationship with the rest of the team without getting too involved. But then Captain America had come along and blown the whole thing out of the water.

Steve Rogers had inserted himself into her life with less effort than it took to breathe. Not only was he dating(?) Natasha, but he had done a lot of work to befriend Iron Man. Whenever the two weren’t arguing about Avengers business, Steve would turn on the charm and start asking personal questions. At first, Natasha tried to keep her distance as Iron Man, but Steve drew her in too effectively, and it wasn’t long before they became actual friends. She told him what she could about Iron Man’s cover story. He was an electrical engineer that had started working for SE straight out of college. He was introduced to Natasha by Rhodey just before she left for Afghanistan, and when she came back, she outfitted him with the suit and Iron-Man-the-bodyguard was born. The rest was public knowledge.

Out of the suit, their romantic relationship had developed in ways Natasha couldn’t have predicted. What were once dinners at the tower shifted to dinners out in the city, always at discrete restaurants that wouldn’t sell her story to the highest bidder. The dinners out shifted back to dinners at the tower with the lights turned low; Steve had even tried to teach her to dance. They spent hours in dark corners of the penthouse just talking; Steve had shared what he could about the war and Natasha had started to open up about Afghanistan. Physically Steve took things slow, something Natasha wasn’t used to. The men she had been involved with before Afghanistan had moved like lightning comparatively, and she found, surprisingly, that she didn’t miss it.

She still couldn’t remember everything that happened in Afghanistan. Steve had noticed the gaps in her story, and she’d been honest in telling him that she couldn’t remember almost nine months of her time there. Sometimes fuzzy memories would linger after a nightmare. All of them took place in the cave, but unfamiliar faces swam in her mind, and she couldn’t ever hold on long enough to remember them later. She wanted to remember; it would have been better than living with nine months of her life missing, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything about it. She didn’t tell Steve about the nightmares; he had enough issues without her piling on.

The Iron-Man-Avenger-team-member situation hadn’t exactly gone as planned either. Barton was far too enthusiastic of a co-worker and made it a point to seek Iron Man out whenever he knew he was on the mansion. Bruce had questions about the armor; Natalia always wanted to practice sparring. She tried to keep Iron Man’s involvement minimal but it was next to impossible if she wanted him to remain an effective part of the team. Worst of all were the increasingly-less-rare command meetings Steve wanted to have. He pushed for bi-weekly sessions, often during the middle of the working day, and it took a skilled PA who didn’t ask questions for Natasha to manage making even half of them.

“You, my friend, need to step it up. We have a responsibility to this team and you’re shirking yours.” Steve cornered Iron Man in the hallway of the mansion after a particularly exhausting mission. Dr. Doom had set yet another group of bots on Queens and it had taken the better part of the day to disable all of them. Natasha was dead on her feet, the only thing keeping her upright was the stiff support of the armor. “You can’t keep ducking out of our meetings. It’s up to the two of us to get this team off the ground.”

“Look, Cap, it’s late. I have other responsibilities outside of this team that I can’t just drop. Ms. Stark relies on me for her personal protection, and if I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty sure that’s a job you’re likely interested in me keeping.”

“As important as Natasha’s safety is…” he paused, furrowing his brow, “I think she’s probably fine working up in the tower. There are other security details that can be assigned to her while you’re here working on Avenger’s business. SHIELD alert or not you need to be here.”

Inside the suit Natasha rolled her eyes. This man could be stubborn when he wanted to be. “I can talk to her if you want, but I can’t promise she’s going to be good about it. She’s rather selfish and the armor is still technically hers. If I piss her off enough she’ll probably just take it away and start wearing it herself.”

A shadow crossed Steve’s face at her threat. “Just talk to Stark. If she’s less than accommodating I can try to talk to her.”

“Good luck with that.” She said, walking away.

She got to the end of the hall, unlocked Iron Man’s room, slipped through the door, and disengaged the armor. Taking it off post-battle was something she both hated and looked forward to. Most of the time she got stuck in bits that had been dented during the fight, and had to find ever more inventive ways of getting it off. As strong as the alloy was, her tendency to be at the center of every battle put it through its paces; pretty soon she was going to have to come up with a solution. Vibranium would be the obvious answer, but realistically there probably wasn’t enough in existence to make even half of a completed suit.

Methodically, she hung the suit on the wall, slipped out of her clothes, and slumped into the bed. She laid, sprawled out on her back, for a few minutes before her StarkPhone went off, alerting her to a text.

_Need to talk. You free?_

She debated responding. Either Steve wanted to talk about Iron Man or he wanted to have a dinner chat, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she was beyond tired and spending time with him was rarely restful. She hadn’t slept in two days, between SE problems and keeping up with the last three SHIELD alerts that required Iron Man’s presence, she was spreading herself too thin and it was starting to take a toll. She decided to go with a version of the truth.

_Free, yes. Conscious, not so much. Rain check?_

Steve took long enough to reply that she had started to drift off, forgetting that she wasn’t at the tower.

_Rain check, deal. Does tomorrow work?_

The sharp noise her phone made startled her enough that she almost fell off the side of the bed.

_Dinner. Tower. 8. See you then._

She threw the phone back on the side table, wiggled underneath the comforter, and passed out.

* * *

What was probably two very short hours later she woke up screaming. It wasn’t anything new--she woke up screaming most nights--but the disorienting realization that she was still at the mansion worsened her panic. The walls hadn’t been insulated as well as the tower’s had been and there was no way for her to know how long she’d been crying out before she woke up. She clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing her scream had morphed into loud sobbing, and tried to muffle the noise. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her free arm around them, and held on for dear life. She was rocking herself back and forth on the bed when a voice on the other side of the door snapped her back to reality.

“Iron Man!” Steve yelled, pounding on the door, “What’s going on? Unlock the door!”

The panic that had been building in the pit of her stomach flared and threatened to overwhelm her. She dropped off the bed, scrambling to shove the helmet over her head.

“I’m fine.” She responded, the voice-manipulators changing her voice into the familiar robotic cadence of Iron Man’s voice.

“I heard screaming. Let me in.”

“Can’t, Cap. The suit’s too damaged to throw back on. You’re just going to have to trust me here.”

Silence met her from the other side of the door; maybe Steve had decided to let his stubborn streak go at last.

“Not a valid excuse. Let me in.”

“No!” she yelled, panic returning. The was no way for her to extricate herself from the situation without giving away who Iron Man really was. If Steve knocked the door in, he’d know, and she couldn’t handle that. The freedom to be Iron Man was, most of the time, what kept her sane when she forced herself to stay away from the alcohol, or God forbid, something worse.

On days when the anxiety or the PTSD overwhelmed her she would throw the suit on, rocket up above the city and fly far out over the open ocean. Sometimes she’d put up the faceplate up when she was far enough out, letting the wind whip around the interior of the helmet. The grounding peace those flights gave her allowed her to stay sane through endless board meetings, Avenger’s business, and the suffocating feeling she had when she woke up from a nightmare. If she was being perfectly honest with herself (which she rarely was) much of her anxiety came as a direct result of the fallout with Obie. The minute she let him know about the suit, he’d realized she had one last golden egg to give, and he did everything within his power to take it, and her life, from her.

The world knew about the arc reactor. Keeping a glowing piece of tech secret was a tall order, and she wasn’t about to throw away more than half of her wardrobe just because the metal casing was visible. Besides, Natasha wasn’t one to show weakness to the public. It was there, and she couldn’t deny it, no matter how much she wished she could have. But letting go of Iron Man was out of the question; she needed his anonymity more than she was willing to admit.

Which was now a serious problem. Her mind whirled, trying to come up with an excuse Steve would see as reasonable, but nothing came to her. She could try and escape out the back, through the concealed door she used to covertly leave the mansion after missions, but disappearing now would only cause more problems later. There really weren’t any good options.

“‘No’ isn’t a good enough answer, Iron Man. Open the door.”

“I can’t let you in here, Cap. Stark would flip a lid if she knew I’d outed myself and I’d be out of a job. It’s nothing and I’ve got it handled. Let it go.”

Steve paused. “I’ll let it go for now, but I expect an explanation tomorrow.”

“We’ll see. Don’t keep poking your nose it where it doesn’t belong, Rogers.”

She heard Steve sigh, his feet shifted on the other side of the door, the hall light flicked off, and he was gone. She took the helmet off and threw it across the room onto the bed, dressed, and exited the mansion from the concealed door in the closet.

* * *

The walk back to the tower was surprisingly productive. She mapped out a new plan for the microcircuits for the neck of the Mark IV and responded to about fifty emails, a luxury she hadn’t had in a few days. Most days, if she chose to walk, she stayed away from the park, keeping to the more crowded sidewalks of Fifth Avenue, but at the last minute she ducked into the park hoping the detour would get her to the tower faster.

She wasn’t familiar with the routes through the trees. New York may have been where she was raised, but Howard had seen to it that she spent as much time not in the city as was possible. She’d been sent off to boarding schools in Maine, London, and Maryland. Every summer he would ship her off to another division of SE for an internship. So while New York was technically “home”, Natasha had never felt that way about the city; not until now, anyway.

The park was dark. Much darker than she would have expected for New York, even though it was well past midnight. It seemed the temperature had dropped significantly and she realized the hair on the back of her neck was standing up. She looked around and realized she was completely lost, and nothing looked familiar. Anxiety built in her chest; something was very, very wrong. She clicked the screen on her StarkPhone off, hoping her eyes would adjust to the dark quickly. She needed to figure out the fastest way out of the park. But everything was twisted by the shadows; trees and shrubs encroached on her from every side. This is a hell of a time not to have access to the suit, she thought. She pulled her phone back out, intending to call Steve, when a heavily accented voice from behind her startled it out of her hand.

“Well, Ms. Stark, it’s nice to see you again.”

She looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, but found nothing. The leaves on the bush to her left rustled and her heart rate spiked; nothing about this was going to end well.

“Who are you?” She asked into the darkness.

“You’ll know soon enough, mein Liebchen. It really is a pity all our meetings end like this.”

The voice was much closer now. It sounded like its owner stood directly behind her, but Natasha found she couldn’t twist to see. She felt a sharp pinch on the side of her neck, and her world went black.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, cliffhangers. :)


	6. Bleeding Out

The Winter Solider was startled out of his thoughts when Doctor Faustus burst into the room, the limp form of a woman draped over his shoulder.

“Alert Zola and the Skull.” He yelled in the soldier's direction.

Without a word he left the room and headed up the stairwell to ground level. Zola insisted that his office not be in the parts of the complex that were underground. He had some insane phobia about it. The soldier never understood it; the doctor should really just learn to do as he was told.

Once at ground level, the soldier turned down the administrative hall and almost ran into Brock Rumlow.

“Watch it,” Rumlow spat.

The soldier responded in whispered Russian and continued down the hall.

The doctor and, surprisingly, the Skull were holed up in the former's office, arguing. The soldier could hear them on the other side of the door as they yelled at each other in German. He didn’t have the patience to wait until there was a lull in the argument. He reached out and shoved the office door open, hard.

“Doctor Faustus has returned with the girl.”

The Skull dropped the paper he’d been holding and darted out of the room, bumping shoulders with the solider as he left. Zola removed his glasses, tossed them on the desk, and followed.

“Come with me,” he called over his shoulder.

* * *

Faustus had the woman strapped down on a metal table that had been pushed into the center of the room. She was still unconscious, her head lolling to the side. Her hair was short, which the soldier thought was strange. He thought she looked familiar, but that other woman had had much longer hair. The Skull had positioned himself behind Faustus, leaning up against the far wall. He looked bored. The soldier settled next to him, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zola walked forward, grabbing the woman’s face in one of his hands, almost as if he was unsure who she was. With his other hand he pulled a syringe out of his jacket pocket, jammed it into her neck, and pushed the plunger down, hard.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. The woman started coughing, her eyes jumped open, and she started to fight against the restraints.

“Calm down, Ms. Stark. The more you struggle the more unpleasant this will be.” Faustus said.

The woman stopped abruptly and her head jerked in the direction of Faustus’s voice.

“Who the hell are you?” Her voice sounded ragged.

“An old friend, dear. We knew each other while you were in Afghanistan. Remember, dear, and help me.”

Her eyes grew wide, an odd expression crossing her face. She looked at peace for a moment before her face turned dark, her eyes cold. The soldier couldn’t tell if it was from fear or anger.

“The only people I knew in Afghanistan are dead.”

“A mistake on your part, nothing more, my dear.” Faustus said, he looked across the room at Zola, confused.

“If Iron Man missed any of the Ten Rings, that’s on him.”

Faustus turned his attention back to the woman, his patience evaporated on the spot. “Don’t play me for a fool, Ms. Stark. You and I both know how you escaped from Afghanistan. We both know who Iron Man really is.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I know everything about you, my dear.”

The Skull pulled away from the wall. He strode across the room and leaned over the woman.

“Can we get on with this, Doctor Faustus? You are wasting my time catching up with old friends.”

Faustus glared across the table at him. “If you wish it, sir.”

Faustus crossed the room, turning his back to the table, and collected several vials from the cabinet on the wall.

“My friends and I have some questions for you, my dear,” Faustus said, turning back toward the woman. He set the vials down next to her, pulled out a syringe, and filled it. “If you cooperate, and I suggest strongly that you do, I will not be forced to use this on you,” he shook the syringe in front of her face, “If you do not cooperate then I will have to burn you from the inside out.”

“You are the ‘superhero’ known as Iron Man,” the Skull said. “Everyone in this room has known that since you built the prototype suit while in the custody of the Ten Rings. We also know that you are working with the government agency SHIELD to create the Avengers Initiative. Surely SHIELD doesn’t intend for you to run around as its personal costumed militia?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” she spat through clenched teeth.

Clearly losing his patience, the Skull turned to Faustus and nodded.

Faustus plunged the needle into her arm and she started to scream instantly. The sound of it made the hair on the back of the Winter Soldier's neck stand up. He closed his eyes, willing it to stop. He’d never been one to tolerate the screams of women. It was always easier just to snuff them out. Why was the Skull allowing this? There were better targets to use to get this information. They should really just dispose of her and move on. This was a waste of time.

After a bit the screaming stopped and the woman’s breathing became ragged.

“Again, Stark. Tell me what the Avengers Initiative is for.”

“Over my dead body.”

“As you wish.” The Skull motioned to Faustus again, who plunged yet another needle in her arm and drained it of its contents.  
This time the woman didn’t scream. Her whole body went rigid as if she was being electrocuted. Her nose bled as her mouth started to foam. It took significantly less time for her body to relax than it had taken her to stop screaming. She slumped down on the table, her eyes squeezed shut, barely breathing.

“This isn’t working, Faustus. I think we need to try a different method.” The Skull said. He leaned over the woman again and slapped her face a few times. Eventually her eyes fluttered open again.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Sit her up.”

Doctor Faustus hit a button on the table. It bent itself, forcing her upright. She stared him full in the face, her eyes burning, a look of absolute hatred etched across her features.

“Do what you want to me,” she said, her voice small and broken, “I’m not telling you a fucking thing. And when you kill me, because I’m assuming that’s where this is headed, you can blame yourself when SHIELD comes calling.”

The Skull actually laughed, out loud, a high mirthless sound. “SHIELD cannot come calling, Stark. They are still laboring under the assumption that I am dead. No one will find you when we’re done. No one will even know you are missing. And when you die, this time you will stay dead. You have exceeded your value. I have already taken from you what I needed. I tried to use you to finish my plans while you were under my control in Afghanistan but you failed me. I believe you simply weren’t strong enough. Zola,” he gestured toward the doctor, “believes that the fault lay solely with my DNA. The serum used to create me was flawed, and therefore, my transformation was flawed. The child you carried apparently never had any chance of surviving. As futile as the attempt was, it taught us much. We have secured other DNA that will allow us to finish the experiment. Your precious Captain America will do nicely.”

The woman glared at the Skull, a look of absolute defiance etched across her face. She shut her eyes as if to gather her thoughts before she spat in the Skulls face.

The Skull growled--a terrifying sound--as he wiped his face clean.

“Break her arm,” he instructed.

The Winter Soldier stepped forward, flexing the tension out of his shoulders as he went, and tore her arm restraint out of the table. In one fluid motion he grabbed the woman’s wrist and slammed the heel of his hand into her elbow, breaking it.

She screamed, again, but the distraction barely registered with the solider. He was finally in his element. Standing up against the wall had made him antsy. Within a few seconds the woman passed out from the pain and the room went quiet.

“Faustus,” Zola said, emerging from the corner, “you promised us she would be more amiable if you were to question her. We are getting nowhere. This is an absolute waste of time.”

“I hoped she would be. I believed, at the time, that she would remain under our control. It seems something happened between now and then to lessen that control. I have no way of knowing how.”

“Then she is useless to us.” The Skull turned toward the Winter Soldier. “Dispose of her. Ensure she doesn’t survive or you will pay the price.” He motioned to Zola and left the room.

“Take her to the park. Dispose of the body there.” Faustus said, retrieving the vials. He set them back in the cabinet and followed the Skull out of the room.


	7. In the Blue of Evening

Sometimes living in the future gave him headaches. Iron Man occasionally took the time to explain things, and Natasha did her best to get him to like some of the newer, more popular, movies, but in his heart Steve still felt like he belonged in 1945. At least the war had been something he understood; there was a clear end game and a specific set of things that had to happen to get there. Working for SHIELD was rewarding in its own way. He was, at least, still physically useful even if he almost never understood what everyone around him was talking about. But he missed how structured his life had been before.

Now he spent his afternoons chasing deranged killer robots around different boroughs of New York. He didn’t even understand the reason they were there. Iron Man had mentioned that Doctor Doom and Reed Richards had a history, but why did that mean Doom wanted to destroy most of Queens? Headaches.

Earlier that afternoon, one of the bots had slammed him against a brick wall, dislocating his shoulder and giving him a slight concussion. His ears had been ringing ever since and he still had a dull ache in his shoulder. Thankfully his accelerated healing rate meant the concussion would be gone by morning and his shoulder would only ache for a few hours. 

The team split up the minute the quinjet docked behind the Avengers Mansion. Hawkeye and Widow, who had been partners during their SHIELD days, ran off to the gym, while Banner and Iron Man stalked off in opposite directions. Hank and Jan walked toward the grounds, arguing all the while. This wasn’t how a team was supposed to behave. Back during the war, when he’d been a part of the Howling Commandos, they’d spent almost every minute of their free time together. Sure, they’d been in occupied Europe, and there wasn’t a lot else to do, but their friendship outside of “work hours” had made them a more effective team; they were better for it. That camaraderie was something the Avengers lacked and they would keep suffering for it if he didn’t do something about it.

Iron Man was technically his co-commander, even if he shirked the responsibility every chance he got, and if Steve was going to make this team work, he needed his help. The sooner they had the chat, the better, and Iron Man looked like he’d headed off in the direction of his personal quarters.

He wound up cornering Iron Man just outside the door to his room but managed to do nothing but put his foot in his mouth. Nothing he said was really what he meant to say and the longer the conversation went on the worse it got. He’d been hoping he and Iron Man could figure out a way to be friends but it looked like all he was capable of was pushing him farther away. In the end he managed to get Iron Man to agree to talk to Natasha so that was something, right?

Afterwards Steve disappeared to the library. It was the quietest place in the house, tucked up in a corner on the third floor, and it made an excellent hiding place. He was fairly sure he was the only one that used it and he seriously doubted that anyone other than Bruce even knew where it was.

He plopped down in his usual arm chair, and dropped his face into his hands. The Howling Commandos had been unified by war, a mutual hatred of the Nazi’s, and their mission to destroy HYDRA. The Avengers came from different backgrounds, were used to working alone, often in the shadows, and had never had a common enemy before the Chitauri. In short, they had nothing in common; nothing to solidify them as a unit. They needed something, but the answer eluded him.

His train of thought slowly descended into memories of the war, of losing Bucky, watching him fall, he look of terror etched on his face as he fell, he horrific gut wrenching ache he felt knowing his friend had died as a direct result of his failings. started to drown in the memories, completely forgetting where he was or that the war had been over for decades.  
He shook himself out of his pity party, choosing lucidity instead. He reached under the chair and pulled out the sketchpad he’d left there and started doodling mostly to occupy his hands as he mulled over his current predicament. It was a few minutes before he realized he’d been sketching Natasha’s hands from memory, and suddenly wanting to see her, he pulled out his phone and texted her.

_Need to talk. You free?_

He set the phone down, turning his attention back to the sketchpad. Natasha’s hands were surprisingly blue collar. They were covered in calluses and small scars from the hands-on work she insisted on doing down in her workshop. She’d explained a few of the things she’d been working on to him. It was all fascinating, but by far his favorite piece of tech she’d worked on was the Iron Man suit. She was constantly fine-tuning it, adding new features, and readjusting the way the pieces fit together. He’d heard Iron Man complain about taking the suit off before; that was probably at the top of her lists of “fix-its”.

His phone went off, startling him.

_Free, yes. Conscious, not so much. Rain check?_

The ball of tension in his chest tightened, he really wanted to talk to her, but he knew he shouldn’t push it. He never should have allowed himself time to think about Bucky. It always depressed him and he would probably have nightmares about it for the next few days. Talking about it with someone was the only thing that made the burden feel bearable, but the only person he was willing to talk to was Natasha.

In an ideal world he’d be able to talk to Iron Man about it; they were supposedly friends after all. Maybe if they had the conversation it would help solidify the team more. Maybe one of the real problems was that the two who were supposed to be in charge hardly knew each other. They should really be setting the example.

He thought about going back downstairs and knocking on Iron Man’s door. He was probably still awake. But Steve couldn’t bring himself to be quite so selfish. Yes, it would make him feel better, but he’d pushed a little too hard during their conversation before, and it probably wasn’t a good idea to try again. For all he knew, Iron Man would just ignore him.

Which brought him back to Natasha. She was the one thing, at least in this century, that made him feel grounded, but he hadn’t told her. Seventy years in the future, everything was different about dating and he wasn’t sure if she would like hearing that so soon. Deciding he could keep his issues to himself for one more day, he texted her back.

_Does tomorrow work?_

Her response was quick and to the point. They’d have dinner in the tower tomorrow, which wasn’t at all what he wanted, but he could live with it. He set the sketchpad back underneath the chair and sighed. He suddenly felt 90 years old, creaky and tired. The adrenaline rush from earlier had finally worn off, giving way to nothing by exhaustion. He headed back downstairs, showered, and passed out.

* * *

The screaming woke him up with a start. The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it half asleep. He flung himself out of bed and grabbed the shield out of habit. It took him a second to remember where he was: this wasn’t Germany, the war was over, he was in his room at the Avengers mansion in New York. He set the shield down, threw on a pair of sweatpants, and darted out of his room down the hall. The screaming had stopped, but he was fairly sure it had been coming from the direction of Iron Man’s room. He skidded to a halt in front of Iron Man’s door and started pounding.

“Iron Man! What’s going on?! Unlock the door!”

He could hear rustling followed by a thunk on the other side.

“I’m fine.” Iron Man yelled back. His voice sounded even and calm, but Steve knew the helmet distorted it. For all he knew it wasn’t even Iron Man responding to him.

“I heard screaming. Let me in.” He was about ten seconds from breaking down the door.

“Can’t, Cap. The suit’s too damaged to throw back on. You’re just going to have to trust me here."

He thought about that for a second. Iron Man had always played his cards close to his chest. The only other superhero who guarded his identity more was Spider Man, and it was something Steve respected. The Army had done the same thing for him back during the war; Private Steve Rogers and Captain America had been, officially, two separate people. Steve didn’t want to violate that trust, but there was too much of a risk that something was seriously wrong on the other side of the door. His hands were tied.

“Not a valid excuse. Let me in.”

“No!”

“No isn’t a good enough answer, Iron Man. Open the door.” This was going just as well as their conversation in the hall earlier.

“I can’t let you in here, Cap. Stark would flip a lid if she knew I’d outed myself and I’d be out of a job. It’s nothing and I’ve got it handled. Let it go.”

Steve paused. Iron Man had a point. Natasha would flip out and, most likely, blame Steve. He also couldn’t risk losing Iron Man as part of the team; the guy was really good at what he did. If Natasha took the suit away he’d be risking more than just Iron Man’s job, he’d be risking the whole team.

“I’ll let it go for now, but I expect an explanation tomorrow.”

“We’ll see. Don’t keep poking your nose it where it doesn’t belong, Rogers.”

Steve sighed. If his nose belonged anywhere it was exactly where it was now. Whether Iron Man liked it or not, Steve was technically his C.O. and he had every right to force an explanation out of him, but it could wait. He flipped off the hall light and walked back to his room.

* * *

Several hours later his SHIELD com went off, startling him awake again. He answered it, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Rogers”

“Cap,” Fury’s voice cracked through the speaker. “I need you and Iron Man up on the helicarrier pronto and he’s not answering his com. Grab him and get up here.”

Steve sat up, grumbling. “What about the others?”

“This is a need to know for now. Just you and Iron Man.” Fury barked.

“Got it. ETA ten minutes. Rogers out.”

He stood up, pulling on his black SHIELD fatigues, and headed out to snag Iron Man. He knocked on the door and was met with silence.

“Iron Man, Fury needs us up at the helicarrier. Get up.”

Nothing. He couldn’t even hear movement on the other side of the door. Maybe waiting until later today for an explanation was a bad idea. He knocked on the door again, this time a bit harder.

“IRON MAN” he yelled.

Nothing. Deciding Iron Man’s stubborn insistence that no one know who he was was officially overrated, Steve slammed into the door a few times, knocked it from its hinges, and burst into the room.

The Iron Man armor was hung neatly on the wall opposite him but it was missing the helmet. A quick sweep of the room and Steve found it lying haphazardly on the bed, which was empty. He checked the bathroom and the closet. Also empty. Iron Man was gone. What the hell.

His SHIELD com went off again, buzzing in his ear.

“What’s the hold up, Cap?” Fury said, sounding impatient.

“Iron Man’s gone AWOL. He’s not in the mansion and he didn’t take the armor.”

“Forget him and get up here. We’ll deal with him later.”

“Yes, sir. Rogers out.”

He ran back to his room, grabbed the shield, and headed out to the quinjet. Normally Natalia or Clint would pilot it, but it had been retrofitted with autopilot to guide it up to the helicarrier. He pushed the sequence code and flopped into the co-pilot seat.

Ten minutes later the jet was docked and Steve was on his way up to the command deck. Fury was waiting for him and lead him into one of the conference rooms.

“How much has Iron Man told you about the Mandarin?”

“Absolutely nothing. Isn’t that a kind of orange?”

“Not today it’s not. The S.O.B. broke out of the maximum security prison he’s been held at in China. It’s a level 3 alert seeing as he’s still operating on foreign soil, and for the time being, the Avenger’s have only been cleared for domestic crises, but you need to be up to speed anyway.”

He slid an overflowing folder across the table to Steve. Fury went on to explain who the Mandarin was, how he’d been working to overthrow China for several decades and had a set of supernatural rings that gave him powers; Fury mentioned that he was pretty sure they were alien tech.

“And, to top it all off, he’s the one responsible for Natasha Stark’s kidnapping. His terrorist cell, the Ten Rings, were the ones that tried to force her to build them a version of the Jericho missile.”

“I suppose that makes sense; from what Natasha told me that missile could have taken out a small city no problem.”

“She’s not wrong. Anyway, you and Iron Man need to be aware of the situation and bring the rest of the team up to speed. Iron Man’s gone after the Ten Rings before so he should catch on really quick. Take the folder, get the team up to speed, and be on alert. If and when the UN and the World Security Council give the go-ahead for international clearance, I’ll let you know. Like I said, he’s a low-level threat. All the intel indicates that he hasn’t been able to find his rings yet. Seeing as he’d have to come to New York to do that, I’m fairly sure we can ignore him for a while.”

* * *

Steve got back to the mansion just as everyone else was getting up. He called a meeting and everyone gathered in the conference room, minus Iron Man.

“Where’s Shellhead?” asked Clint.

“No idea. I haven’t seen or heard from him since last night.” Steve said, dropping the folder down on the table. It made a satisfying thwack jarring Banner out of his train of thought.

“The Mandarin’s escaped. Fury said we need to be on alert, but since we’re cleared for domestic issues only, not to jump the gun.” He went into an explanation of why they should be worried, but no one seemed to care that much.

“He is an old threat, and he is predictable. Fury has his rings. He’s the one who should be worried.” said Natalia.

Clint scoffed. “Maybe he’s predictable to you, Natalia, but I think the dude’s nuts. He has a screw loose; no one knows what his plans are except him.”

Banner had gone back to staring out the window. He looked thoroughly unfazed.

“What does Fury want from us?” Jan asked. She looked seriously annoyed about something and was staring determinedly in the opposite direction of Hank.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Hank said, “the good captain isn’t going to make you do anything you don’t feel like. Heaven knows he couldn’t even if he tried.”

Jan jerked her head back in Hank’s direction, a look of pure fury on her face. “List—“

Slamming his fist on the table, Steve cut her off. “Whether you all like it or not, we are supposed to be a team. And a voluntary team at that. If you don’t want to be a part of what is going on here, leave. No one is making you stay. Either get use to the idea that you’re going to have to work with each other, or get out of my sight. You’re all acting like children. Get it together.” It took all his restraint not to yell that last part.

The team all looked at him, shocked. None of them had seen him lose his cool, which to be fair, didn’t happen very often. Encouraged by their silence, Steve continued.

“Iron Man has the most experience with the Mandarin, so whenever he decides to show up again, he’s going to be our best resource. I want everyone on their training schedules ASAP and I don’t want to hear anymore yelling. Dismissed.”

Steve gathered up the paperwork, threw the shield over his back, and walked out of the room. It was getting to be late morning at this point so he dropped his stuff off in his room and went down to the basement to blow off some steam.

The gym Natasha had built for them was huge; it had everything Steve could ever even think about using and a few things he couldn’t even name. He settled himself in front on a punching bag and lost himself in the rhythm.

He wasn’t sure when she got there, but he eventually noticed Natalia leaning against the wall behind him.

“Impressive.” She commented when he turned her direction.

“Thanks.” He replied. He wasn’t sure why but he suddenly felt very exposed.

“I can see why they always talked about your so reverently back in the mother country. Even there you had a reputation.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that. He shot her a tight smile and busied himself with unwrapping his knuckles.

“You ought to be more careful around Stark.” She was much closer to him now. “She is more of a liability than you realize.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“No matter. Someday you’ll look back on this and realize I was right.”

Confused, Steve looked up at her. He tried to think of a retort but came up empty handed. She smiled at him, turned on her heels, and walked out of the room.

* * *

Steve made his way back upstairs, it was getting late enough that he should probably shower and get ready to head over to the tower. He’d stripped down and was just about to get in the shower when his SHIELD com went off for the third time that day. He shut the water off and jammed it into his ear.

“Rogers.” He answered, inwardly cursing Fury.

“Assemble the team. We have a Level-1 situation in Central Park involving Stark.”

Steve felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His knees went weak and it took all the concentration in the world to keep breathing.

“Yes, sir.” was all he could manage. He threw the com unit down and raced to put on his suit. Throwing the shield over his shoulder, he jammed the com unit back in his ear.

The team was assembled out by the quinjet, costumed and ready to go. Steve walked up to them, steeling himself for whatever they were going to have to deal with. He turned to the team, took a deep breath, and started barking orders.

“Barton, you take the high ground. Take the jet and hover over the park. Keep your eyes peeled for Stark. Banner, you get in the jet with Hawkeye and run surveillance. We’ll let you know if we have a ‘Code Green’ on our hands. Wasp and Antman, I want you on ground surveillance and recon. Keep me updated on who’s in the park. If any of you see hostiles, you’re free to take them out. Widow, you’re with me.”

They fell in step behind him as he ran off the mansion grounds. Fifth Avenue was busy as ever but Steve didn’t slow his pace. He darted out into traffic and, within seconds, was standing on the edge of the park. The quinjet soared over them and Steve could hear Hank and Jan shrink down.

“There’s something going on on the north side of the zoo.” Banner’s voice crackled over the com unit.

“Copy,” Steve said. Turning to his left he jumped the low wall and took off in the direction of the zoo, Widow on his heels. He willed himself to go faster, unable to shake the feeling that something was very, very wrong.

The sun had started to set, it was late enough in the year that it was dark by four or five in the evening, and Steve started to worry the lack of light was going to impact how this all played out.

“Hostiles!” Hawkeye yelled over the com.

Steve looked up in the direction of the zoo just as the sounds of an explosion reached his ears. He shuddered to a halt just along the tree line out of sight of whoever was out in the open.

The quinjet was up above the zoo, Hawkeye hanging precariously out of the back hatch. He looked completely at ease, like hanging upside down seventy feet in the air was normal. Below him stood a man, about Steve’s height, looking up at the Clint, a strange expression etched across the parts of his face Steve could see.

“Holy shit! That dude plucked my arrow out of the air with a bionic arm and threw it!” Clint yelled over the coms. He notched another arrow when the man made an about-face and darted off into the trees. Steve looked around, trying to see if he could find Natasha, but saw nothing. She wasn’t there. What the hell was Fury playing at? He was half a second away from following the masked stranger when a shadow on the other side of the clearing caught his eye.

There was something pushed up against the tree line opposite from where Steve stood. Whatever or whoever it was wasn’t moving. Steve’s stomach did a flip as he darted out from the tree line. He made it across the field in seconds, dropping to the ground beside the pile, frantic to make sure it wasn’t Natasha. He pulled at the fabric until he found her face and his heart stopped.

Natasha, face bloody and bruised, was completely limp. She was unconscious and--before Steve could think better of it--he scooped her up, noticing that her arm was broken.

“LAND THE JET!” He yelled into his com. “NOW.”

Bruce landed in the middle of the field and everyone piled in behind Steve. He took a seat toward the back and cradled Natasha gently in his arms.

“Helicarrier. Now. Someone tell Fury we’re coming and Stark’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

He looked down at her. Unconsciousness should have made her look peaceful, as though she were sleeping. But her face was twisted in pain. Her arm was clearly broken and most likely so were her ribs. She had lacerations over more than half her face, deep gashes that continued to ooze. If he had to guess--and he really, really didn’t want to--he’d guess she was bleeding internally too. He held onto one of her wrists at a pulse point; he needed the constant reminder of her faint heartbeat if he was going to even pretend to keep it together.

They made it to the helicarrier in record time and Fury’d sent up an Medevac team to meet them. The medics tried to take Natasha’s limp form from Steve but he refused to put her down. Instead he followed them up to Medical, releasing her onto one of the exam tables. He dropped his weight onto a metal chair and waited while the trauma team did its job.

He tried to listen to what they were yelling; it probably wasn’t good news, but his ears had decided to stop working. All he could do was stare straight ahead, chin propped up in his bloodstained hands.

After what felt like an eternity, the heart-wrenching ring of Natasha’s heart monitor broke him out of his trance; her heart had stopped. He froze, fear and panic and desperation threatening to overwhelm him, as the nurses and doctors surrounding her tried to restart it.

Eventually her heart restarted but her pulse rate was dangerously low; her body wasn’t getting oxygen and they rushed her into surgery.

Most likely because he was Captain America, Steve was allowed to stand on the other side of the observation glass during the surgery. The doctors tried to keep him down in a waiting room but he insisted--forcefully--that they allow him back and eventually they relented. Fury had joined him at some point, placing a solid hand on his shoulder, staring stoically ahead. Neither of them said anything.

Steve watched as the doctors worked to bring Natasha back from the brink of death. All time lost meaning as he stood there, arms folded across his chest, watching the medical team do what they could. It seemed to go on forever, an endless fight to keep Natasha’s heart beating. At one particularly painful point, Steve noticed the doctors had removed the arc-reactor and Fury had to physically restrain him from trying to get into the room. He had never felt more helpless. The tears fell thick and hot down his cheeks as he watched the only person he had left circle the drain.

“Excuse me, Director Fury?” A soft woman’s voice came from behind them. “Doctor Ames would like me to speak with you, if you have time.”

Fury looked around, but Steve didn’t move. His was still too focused on Natasha.

“My name is Dr. Maya Hansen. Ms. Stark is not doing well and will most likely not survive the operation. Dr. Ames and I have spoken, and I think I may have a solution. However you should be aware that it only has a 2.5% success rate.”

Without looking over his shoulder, Steve said, “What are her chances without it?”

“Less than 1%, sir. She sustained serious injuries that, even if she survives the surgery, she will most likely never heal completely.”

“Then what’s the point?” Steve choked out. He wanted to yell at her, to make her understand the soul-crushing truth that Natasha was forever beyond his reach.

“Our solution would repair Ms. Stark at the cellular level. It would rewrite her body’s genetic make up and return her to full health, assuming she carries the correct genetic sequence.”

“Do it,” Fury said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN-DUN-DUN!!!!! ;)


	8. Only Forever

Steve spent every day of Natasha’s recovery in her room more or less directly at her bedside, where her too-small frame was plastered with every imaginable monitor, sensor, and IV line. When she finally came out of surgery the doctors told him that there was a lot of damage her body needed to repair and that it could take weeks for her to wake up. She still looked too pale, her skin like wax. Steve had a hard time looking at her for the first day of her recovery; his Natasha was so much more vibrant than the version trapped in the hospital bed. He thought the whole thing was going to eat him from the inside out. Day One made Steve want to rip out his own hair

On Day Two, Dr. Ames and Dr. Hansen visited and assured him that the serum had bonded properly with her cells; she was getting steadily better and would make a full recovery. He had a hard time believing it. She had been so close to death during the surgery and she hadn’t so much as moved since they brought her to her recovery room. By the end of it Steve found himself nearly catatonic in the too-small, plastic chair next to Natasha’s bed. He fell asleep there that night, his head resting on the railing of her bed.

Days Three and Four were equally awful, no obvious progress had been made and Steve thought he would go mad waiting. Eventually the team figured out he was going to try and out-stubborn the serum and took shifts to make sure he ate and slept, even if it meant he had to curl up on the laughably small couch situated across from Natasha’s bed. Bruce stopped by at the end of Day Four to let him know that Jan would be by first thing in the morning but that he wasn’t going to come back; he was too afraid the ‘other guy’ would get upset.

On Day Five Jan came and sat with him. She didn’t say anything. She just sat in a chair with a fashion magazine and flicked through it, occasionally making judgemental comments about what so-and-so wore to some charity event. Steve didn’t listen but her presence in the room made the pressure in his chest feel a little lighter. Jan and Natasha had grown up in the same circles, and even though they’d never truly been close, Jan was a part of Natasha that Steve missed desperately. At the end of her shift, Jan stood up, patted Steve on the shoulder, and sauntered from the room without a word.

Natalia’s shift on Day Four came a little after lunch. She brought him stacks of manila folders; updates on the man they’d tried to apprehend in the park and a few reports on the Mandarin's activities in China, but the distractions didn’t last him long.

The masked man in the park had left nothing behind to help identify him. They had a few recon pictures Bruce had managed to take from the cockpit of the quinjet, and they were at a much better angle than Steve had had from the ground. There was something familiar about the shape of his face, but Steve couldn’t place it. The endless waiting was making his brain itch and he would have given anything to spend a few hours interrogating, however violently, the man that had left Natasha for dead.

The Mandarin hadn’t been up to much since his escape; a few instances of petty theft and one assault in a small province hundreds of miles from where he escaped, but nothing serious. As far as SHIELD could tell he didn’t have a solid plan or enough support to carry anything out yet. In short not an immediate threat; they could keep him on the back burner. Natalia sat on the couch next to Steve, posture ramrod straight, occasionally responding to a question or a comment Steve would make about memos.

He appreciated the effort the others were making but it didn’t feel like it made a damn bit of difference. He would stay up late into the night, sketchbook in hand, trying to figure out the storm that was raging in his chest. The two of them had been building something, he wasn’t sure what form it was taking, but there was something there, something that could change everything. He couldn’t lose her, not now that things had started to click into place. The reassurances from her doctors did nothing to ease his anxiety. Instead he sketched. He filled notebooks full of her hands, the one piece of her that seemed entirely out of place; they endlessly fascinated him. They were small but strong, gentle but calloused. He couldn't reconcile her hands with the woman he’d gotten to know. It made him feel like he was missing something, and in the silence of her hospital room, he found himself obsessing over it.

Clint came for his shift late on Day Five, throwing himself unceremoniously on the couch next to Steve. He seemed oddly quiet, fidgeting in his seat, before he got the courage up to talk. It was strangely un-Clint like.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” He asked.

Steve looked over his shoulder at him, thinking. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you guys are close, but Stark’s pretty independent. It’s not your job to be her personal bodyguard. None of this is your fault.”

“Did someone hit you over the head, Clint? You do realize there’s more going on between Stark and I than just… friends.”

“Well yeah, but if it was really something to talk about Stark would have been bragging about it already. She’s not exactly subtle.”

Something inside Steve twisted painfully. Maybe Clint had a point. He didn’t know what Natasha wanted out of this relationship, if you could call it that. They were certainly friends and Steve felt more comfortable around her than anyone else on the team. They spent plenty of time alone at the tower, and he’d thought the kissing had been leading somewhere, even if they didn’t talk about it. Maybe he’d just read all the signals wrong; it wasn’t like he understood anything about dating in this century. He knew a lot about Natasha’s past and she wasn’t one to tie herself down. Maybe Steve was just another one in a long line of people she kept causal company with.

The feeling in his gut tightened when he realized that “casual” was basically the farthest thing from what he wanted. He wasn’t sure he’d felt this strongly about anyone since the war and maybe he didn’t then either. Sure, Peggy was a breath of fresh air, and she still meant the world to him, but the way he felt with Natasha was different. Peggy was comforting and safe; Natasha was an absolute need. Not having her around felt like he’d misplaced a limb.

If he gave Natasha the benefit of the doubt, Clint’s comment didn’t mean much. With the exception of Iron Man, no one on the team knew Natasha like he did and he wasn’t about to jump to conclusions while she was sleeping. He wasn’t really content to let things stay the way they were before Natasha went missing, but for now that wasn’t a thread he wanted to start pulling at.

She hadn’t shown any signs of wanting things to change before and he was going to run with it until she said otherwise.

He lost his patience exactly once at a nurse on Day Seven. She came in to record Natasha’s vital signs, and noticing Steve on the couch, tried to remind him that these things take time.

“Sleep is the best medicine, dear.” she said to her clipboard.

An anger he didn’t know he was capable of flared in his chest, and he threw the sketchbook against the wall, stopping short of yelling. The nurse jumped but politely ignored him and bustled from the room the same way she came. His temper tantrum didn’t make him feel better. If anything he was ashamed; horrified to know that such a simple thing could set him off like that. He needed Natasha to wake up.

He retrieved the ruffled sketchbook from the floor and situated himself in the chair next to her bed. He ran his fingers through her hair--it had finally started to grow back out--and caught himself talking to her.

“You know, my ma passed before the war. Bu--Buck... I--I let him down. I lost… everything. Maybe… maybe Peggy and I--she understood some of… what happened. Maybe we could have… given it a go. I guess I’ll never know,” he was quickly losing the ability to keep his voice even. He shouldn’t say these things; they would bring back demons he couldn’t face alone. But he needed Natasha to know so, squeezing his eyes shut, he continued.

“When I first woke up I wished you’d just left me in the ice. It would have been less… painful, I guess. You all expected me to be Captain America but… that… that wasn’t who spent all those years frozen. I did--Steve. I was… I was angry when I woke up. Everyone’d moved on… like they should have but--,” his voice cracked. He hated this. It had never been easy for him to talk about how he felt and he’d really been trying with Natasha. Sometimes it helped but he suddenly felt like the walls were closing in around him--the last seventy years of loss threatening to drown him. He grabbed Natasha’s hand and held on for dear life; he could make it through this. He had to.

He cleared his throat, “I didn’t think I could. It was all… confusing. Fury kept telling me to get help--to talk to someone. And then you cornered me in the library--do you… do you remember that? I’d been avoiding you, but you knew that already. I just wanted some peace and quiet. But you surprised me. You’re good at that,” he choked out a laugh. Those few weeks between waking up and Natasha’s sudden appearance in the library weren’t ones he wanted to dwell on. She saved him that day; rescued him from something he feared was coming. She needed to know that. He looked over at Natasha’s face again, so calm while she slept, and an emotion he couldn’t identify started to grow in his chest; he felt himself relax a bit.

“You didn’t interrogate me; just told me you would listen if I wanted to talk. No one ever asked me what I wanted. Just you... When I did decide to talk you let me see you whenever I wanted. You were... I don’t know, freedom? I--I think it’s what drew me to you,” he smiled sadly.

“I don’t think you remember saying that--why would you? It was all I could think about for days. Fury put this all together so fast I never had a chance to think about it. You know,” he paused again, realizing something for the first time, “after the serum, my life was one long string of orders. Before that… I was too sick. Having a choice… this is all new to me,” and finally he knew what he should say.

“I think this is where I want to be, here... with the team. And you. I--I want to figure this out… whatever this is with you,” he squeezed Natasha’s hand, “I don’t want to… compare you to Peggy? It’s not--not right I don’t think. But you need to know so… Peggy was safe… familiar. I miss her like hell... But I would,” he sighed, “I would trade that for you a hundred times over. I… I need you here, Natasha. I don’t… I don’t feel so lost anymore. I can’t lose you--,” he allowed the tears to fall silently for a second before regaining his composure. He wiped away any evidence of his weakness before burying his face in the bed next to Natasha.

He had just managed to even out his breathing when the hand inside his twitched.


	9. Clean

The buzzing in her head was driving her nuts. It wasn’t exactly a headache--more like her brain was making noise inside her skull. She wanted it to stop, but she had no idea how. Her body felt limp and heavy, almost like she was passed out inside the armor. But that wasn’t possible; she’d taken it off before she went to sleep.

Oh...and then she’d had that nightmare and Steve had been pounding on her door and she’d left the mansion. She had been headed back to tower but this didn’t feel like home. There were too many unfamiliar sounds and she couldn’t remember actually getting back to the tower.

She tried to focus on other noises around her; she wasn’t sure she could open her eyes yet and she didn’t want to risk it if she’d ended up kidnapped again. She could make out someone talking to her right. They sounded upset but she couldn’t be sure; the buzzing wouldn’t stop. Whatever the hell the it was was pissing her the fuck off.

She wanted to hear what the voice was saying. It was important, whoever it was, that much she knew. But the damned buzzing was too distracting. She’d never had a headache like this before.

What the hell was going on? She was a genius, she could figure this out. So, left without another option, she ignored the voice and concentrated on the noise in her head. The minute she gave the buzzing her full attention she felt a stab of pain behind her left eye and gave an involuntary twitch. Her heart rate spiked--she could hear a monitor somewhere--was she in the hospital?

She heard movement and the voice to her right spoke up again.

“Natasha, can-- can you hear me?”

_Steve_. She opened her eyes--it took way too long to adjust to the light--and focused on him. His hair was disheveled like he’d fallen asleep recently. His eyes were bloodshot so clearly he hadn’t been sleeping much. He’d propped himself up in a plastic chair next to her bed and had her hand clasped softly in both of his.

“I can hear you,” she said. Her voice was small and raspy. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d last been awake.  
Steve dropped his head onto the bed next to her, burying his face in the side of her thigh. She reached out and brushed her fingers through his hair until the tension in his shoulder’s disappeared.

“Why is my head buzzing? What happened?” she asked.

“The doctor’s have to explain it. Fury made the call and I wasn’t exactly listening to the details,” he mumbled.

Almost on cue, three doctors followed by Nick Fury walked into the room. Steve sat up suddenly, ramrod straight, in the plastic chair, and locked eyes with the Director. It looked like the two were having a silent conversation but Natasha couldn’t be sure.

“Ms. Stark, I am Dr. Ames,” the taller of the three said. “I performed your surgery along with Dr. Blake,” he gestured to the man standing next to him. “This is Dr. Maya Hansen. She has a few things she needs to explain to you about your current condition.”

The woman stepped forward. “It is a relief to see you awake, Ms. Stark. What is the last thing you remember before waking up?”

“I was--” She’d been about to say ‘I was leaving the mansion’ but caught herself before the words tumbled out. In the corner, Fury rolled his eyes. “I was at home, I think.”

“Not surprising. Has Captain Rogers filled you in on anything?”

“I didn’t really get the chance. She only woke up ten seconds ago.”

“My apologies,” Maya said, avoiding his eyes. “At any rate, Ms. Stark, certain lifesaving measures had to be taken. The solution we came up with was, shall we say, less than ideal, but I am ecstatic to see that it has worked. When the Avengers Initiative found you in Central Park you were unconscious and close to death. Your right elbow had been broken and you were bleeding internally. Doctors Ames and Blake tried for hours to stop the bleeding but were unsuccessful, which was when I was called in to assist. I have been working with my employer to develop something called the Extremis Virus in an attempt to create a new super-solider serum, similar to the one used on Captain Rogers.” 

Steve, most likely unconsciously, jumped out of his seat at hearing this. His eyes were dark and he’d clenched his hands into fists.

“Sit down, Cap,” Fury cautioned.

Steve turned his attention back to Fury, glaring at him, but followed the order. He sat back down in his chair and reached for Natasha's hand again.

“Extremis is a bio-electronics package; a magic bullet, much like the original serum, fitted into a single injection. It hacks the body's repair center—the part of the brain that controls the blueprints for the human body. Extremis rewrites the blueprint. Your brain was told your body was now wrong and went about fixing it, aided by the serum. When all goes according to plan, and it seems it has with you, Ms. Stark, the subject retains their consciousness--memories, higher language functions, motor skills and muscle memory--but they may as well have been transferred to a new body. Your organs have been regenerated. The arc reactor you’ve required since Afghanistan is now obsolete and has been removed. Your liver has fully healed, your elbow is no longer broken. In short, Ms. Stark, you’ve been made whole again.”

Natasha wasn’t sure what to say. The hand that Steve wasn’t still holding reached up to touch the arc reactor, or rather where the arc reactor should have been, and found it missing. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss Maya or punch her in the kidney. Maya didn’t seem to notice Natasha’s distraction and plowed on explaining her brain child.

“In addition to the physical benefits of the virus, your body has been reprogramed for future injury response. Successful subjects have seen significantly faster recovery times following injury and more resilience against physical trauma. There are other benefits of the serum as it applies to the average subject, but knowing who you are, I augmented the virus for your application. I wonder, Ms. Stark, is your head buzzing?”

“Yes. And while we’re on that train of thought, make it stop. It’s giving me a headache.”  
Maya’s eyes seemed to light up and she suddenly looked distracted; Natasha figured she was lost in her own excitement. She understood that. It was the same feeling she had the first time she broke Mach I.

Fury coughed, “Mind explaining, doctor?”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Maya said, pulling her attention back to the room. “The dose you were treated with contained a set of nano-processors intended to fuse with the neural pathways in your brain, thus allowing you to directly interface with computers.”

“So you’re telling me I can talk to computers with my mind,” Natasha said, suddenly feeling dumb for perhaps the first time in her life.

“In layman’s terms, yes.”

“And my brain is buzzing…” 

“Because you are connected to the machinery in this room by default. If my understanding is correct, and it always is, you can access any piece of equipment here simply by focusing on the sound of the buzz.”

Natasha reached out with her mind, feeling the ends of the buzzing, and latched onto one. She could instantly see the readout from the heart monitor, and with one thought, she shut it off.

The beeping to her left went quiet.

“Holy shit,” she said.

Doctor Hansen told Natasha she would like to see her on a regular basis for follow up appointments and further research. She wasn’t completely at ease with being a lab rat, but she agreed to it anyway. The doctors left the room as Fury walked to the foot of her bed.

“I suggest, Ms. Stark, in the wake of your miraculous recovery, that you put your house in order.” He turned on his heel and swept from the room.  
Natasha had to fight the urge to stick her tongue out at him. She was pretty sure he was telling to her reveal Iron Man's identity but there was no way that was going to happen. At least not today.

Steve glanced over at her from his chair, an anxious look in his eyes.

“Come here,” she said, scooting over.

He dropped down on the bed next to her and leaned his head down to hers, resting their foreheads together. She closed her eyes, glad to feel his solid presence. They sat like that for a long while, Steve running his hand up and down her arm, Natasha silently wishing they weren’t in a hospital room. Eventually she tipped her head up and caught his lips. He returned the kiss, slow and gentle, while the stress Natasha had felt in her chest slowly eased away.


	10. Are We Out of the Woods Yet

Jarvis came to collect her from the SHIELD medical facility the following morning. Fury had instructed everyone that, officially, Natasha was still in a coma. SHIELD hadn’t been able to identify her kidnappers yet and Fury was less than ready to let them know she was still alive and available for the taking. He was adamant that they’d left her for dead and finding them would be easier if she never recovered. Natasha had made some changes to her will right after she got back from Afghanistan, but Fury wanted to hold off on having her officially declared dead for a few days so that Natasha could be involved in the planning meetings.

After a lot of coaxing, Steve relented and agreed to go back to the mansion to shower, change, and sleep. He would take a nap, Natasha insisted he sleep in an actual bed for a few hours, before heading to the tower to check on her. She refused to admit it--at least not out loud--but she was almost as hesitant for Steve to leave as he had been to go. It was weak, she knew that, but she was afraid of being alone right now.

When she’d first woken up to find Steve sleeping in that awful plastic chair, her memory had been fuzzy; she attributed it to her brain adjusting to the Extremis virus. Now that she’d had time to play with it and she realised her memories had all come back. And it wasn’t just the memories of the most recent kidnapping; she could remember Afghanistan.

***

They’d attacked the convoy just after she’d finished presenting the Jericho missile. If she had to make a guess, the army was going to have a field day with that particular new toy and SE was going to make a killing on it. They never even saw the attack coming. Before she could really register what was going on she’d been taken from the back seat. Whoever it was that took her threw a sack over her head and pushed her into the back of yet another car before smacking her upside the head with what she assumed was the butt of a gun.

She woke up tied to a chair in the middle of a generic-looking hospital room. Her head was killing her and she was pretty sure there was dried blood smeared across her face. She looked around the room, hoping to see something useful, when a rotund man walked in carrying a briefcase.

“Nice to see you awake, Ms. Stark,” he said. His accent surprised her. What was a German doing in the middle of the Afghani desert? She didn’t respond but he didn’t seem like he was waiting for her.

“It is a pity that we have to meet under such disastrous circumstances, but I wanted to meet you; I needed to meet you. You are a truly remarkable person, Ms. Stark, and I have so much I want to learn from you; so much I want to teach you. You are, of course, renowned for your, shall we say, genius and I believe we can be of much use to each other. Oh, I am forgetting my manners. How rude of me not to introduce myself. I am Doctor Faustus. But you may call me Johann if you like.”

“What, exactly, does a German doctor want with me?” Natasha asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Austrian, my dear. Vienna is no longer subjugated by German rule.”

“Whatever. What is it you feel like teaching me?”

“Oh, many things, my dear, many things. We are quite secluded here in the mountains and shall have plenty of time to become acquainted. There is no reason to tell you my end goal now, is there?”

“Beyond the usual ego-fueled need to monologue, I suppose not,” she said. The headache was getting worse; her vision was starting to get blurry.

The doctor laughed. “I suppose so. But there is no need for that now, my dear. I just have a few questions and then I can leave you alone. Or, perhaps if you’d rather, I can see to it that you’re taken to your quarters. There’s really no need to keep you tied to a chair like an animal. Now,” he said, snapping his fingers, “shall we get started? Do you know, dear, where you are?”

“I know where I was before you brought me here.”

“And where was that?” he snapped his fingers again.

“Afghanistan.”

“Correct. Very good, very good. Are you on any medication?” followed by yet another snap.

“Why the hell do you even need to know that?”

The doctor snapped his fingers again before answering. “You’ll find out soon enough, dear. Just answer the question.”

Without warning, the headache reared its ugly head and what was left of her vision faded; her ears ringing loud enough to block out whatever it was the doctor was saying. She puked, a disgusting display, and slumped over in the chair. She wasn’t exactly unconscious but she played it up. Maybe, if she was lucky, he’d leave and she could come up with a plan. She heard him stand up and cross the room; it took a lot for her not to twitch when he started to wipe the blood off the side of her face.

“My dear Ms. Stark, what have they done to you?” He gently wiped some of the blood out of her hair and brushed it through his fingers. Obviously he wasn’t the most immediate threat. She kept her body limp as he picked her up and carried her out of the room. 

* * *

Her quarters were cramped--well cramped if you compared them to the house back in Malibu, but there was at least a bed. After Faustus left she cleaned herself up. Her hair was tangled and sticky from her head wound. She rinsed it out in the sink, desperately wishing she had shampoo, and tied it in a knot at the base of her neck.

Her head was still killing her but the nausea had subsided. She slumped onto the cot, throwing her arm over her face. Pepper would be waiting for her at the airport; her flight was probably supposed to be landing right about now. She wasn’t supposed to stay in Afghanistan for more than a few hours. Happy would probably be there too; maybe those two would finally get their act together if she didn’t make it back. Grief did that sometimes. Either it brought people together or it tore them apart.

Months went by. Her days started to blur together. Faustus made regular appearances but she lost the ability to tell the difference between night and day.

There was only one day that deviated from the rest and it stood out in her mind like a sore thumb. Faustus usually came to get her from her cell before their sessions and seemed to be running late; even if she didn’t know the day she knew enough to anticipate the sharp snap of his fingers as he approached her cell. She would never forget the slow creak the door to her cell made as the other doctor--she thought his name was Tsola--entered her cell flanked by two agents.

“The day is finally here, Ms. Stark,” he said, leaning over her face, “Our destinies collide today,” and he jammed the needle in her neck. She lost consciousness in seconds.

* * *

His experiments had taken much longer to produce viable results than he had expected. He had done months of research leading up to active testing and he had never expect to fail this much. But Zola was never one prone to discouragement. With each failure he was able to learn more, much more, than he had ever desired to know about genetics. Originally his idea had been half-cocked, something worth dreaming but impossible to attain. Now that he’d succeeded, HYDRA could bring back the glory days of the Third Reich to dominate the planet in a time frame the Red Skull had only ever dreamed about. The Skull was adamant that Zola find a different hobby but he knew the solution to all their problems would come in the form of a child.

Manipulating DNA in a way that violated the laws of nature was the biggest thrill science had provided Doctor Zola in recent memory. Yes, there had been that time he’d created a super solider to rival “the great Captain America” from the mangled corpse of an American solider, but that had been decades ago. This was what he was born to do. He was a god; he could create life from nothing. Hand-designing a child, manipulating it so the child would grow with the exact traits Zola desired, down to the shape of its nose, was a job of which only he was capable. It was exacting work and the level of detail required demanded Zola’s constant attention. The Skull complained about his derelict of duty in their other plans, but as Zola constantly reminded him, everything else would fall in line when the child was born. A human being had never been genetically engineered in such a way before and the impact of the child’s existence could turn the tide back in their favor.

The child, or rather at this stage the embryo, required additional traits to be spliced into the DNA pattern to ensure its stability. The serum used to create the Red Skull had been incomplete and it seriously affected the viability of the embryo. Even if it successfully attached and started to grow there was no way to ensure the viability of the fetus. It was an enormous risk and Zola reveled in it.

Modifying the genes to ensure the child would possess the best of both his genetic parents had been the most difficult step, but Zola was confident he had succeeded. The Skull required a soldier who could outmatch the Winter Solider from the base up; this was a chance for Zola to improve on his previous creation, and the intelligence of Natasha Stark combined with the inherent strength of the super solider serum would provide the perfect starting point. In the middle of the night, a solid six months after Zola began his research, he succeeded in creating a viable embryo ready for implantation.

The woman had been selected specifically for both her intelligence and her genetic stock. She had been born the only child of one of the United States’ most brilliant scientists; there was something there the Skull could work with. Initially her kidnapping was intended to collect her genetic material to work with, but Faustus insisted they keep her to implant the child in. They did have need of womb and in the end Zola didn’t argue. If they kept her under Faustus’s control she would be unable to sabotage the pregnancy; it was easier than finding someone else.

He gathered a few guards and found her lying, almost catatonic, on the cot in her cell. He incapacitated her and had her moved to the sub-level where a surgical room had been prepared. Within an hour the embryo had been implanted and she had been placed in a medically induced coma to ensure all went according to plan.

A week later they brought her back to full consciousness and returned her to her cell. Faustus insisted on explaining the situation to her. He believed it would make things easier on both her and the child, which would in turn give them a higher probability that the child would be carried to term.

* * *

Doctor Faustus had been making much more regular visits to her cell in the weeks following Doctor Zola’s appearance. The doctor had said their destinies aligned the day he stuck her with that needle but she had no idea why.

“Natasha, my dear,” Faustus said one afternoon, snapping his fingers to get her attention, “We need to have a chat.”

Against her will her eyes snapped to meet Faustus’s from across the cell but she managed to resist the urge to respond. She had made a rule of not speaking to him.

“I am sure you remember a day, a few weeks ago, when Doctor Zola came to see you without me. He performed a, shall we say, a delicate operation on you following that visit and I feel it is important that you know what he did. This will impact you in ways no one yet understands, but I think we will all be happier if you are successful.”

Rather than fear, which would have been a logical emotion following that new bit of information, Natasha felt a strange sense of calm overwhelm her as Faustus continued his tale.

“The Red Skull and Doctor Zola have, for some time, sought a way to reestablish the glory of the Third Reich, much the way it was headed during the height of the war, and they have become, shall we say, ever more desperate to find a way to do so. The Skull believes my ability to influence others is a viable solution but Doctor Zola disagrees. He believes HYDRA and the Skull will be best served if they command a small group of remarkable human beings gifted with unique traits who can operate independent of the bulk of HYDRA and expedite their plans. For several months before you came to stay with us, Doctor Zola worked to create a list of people already known to hold certain traits that were uncommon among the general population. You, my dear, topped that list. You’re uncommonly high IQ combined with your innovative spirit caught his eye and you have been, for some time, an obsession of his. He had desired your DNA for several months before he saw the opportunity to take you. And so we find ourselves in this cave. Since your capture Zola has perfected his method and succeeded in creating a viable embryo. Last week he took his chance and he tells me all went well. You, my dear, are carrying a child.”

The sense of calm that had been growing while Faustus spoke suddenly vanished and in its absence she felt violently angry. She wanted wanted to rip out her hair, scream; maybe throw something. She felt violated in the deepest way possible and with that anger her head cleared; for the first time in weeks she felt like herself. Faustus snapped again to bring her attention back to him and just as quickly as the anger came it faded. She felt calm again, as if the knowledge that she was carrying the Skull’s child was the fulfilment of a lifelong dream.

“I can see the gears in your head spinning, my dear,” Faustus cooed, “I promise it is better this way.”

* * *

Two months later, in the middle of the night, Natasha woke up in pain. The force of it knocked her out of her sleep violently, and for a minute, she forgot where she was. She was cold, almost like she’d been thrown in ice water, and her vision swam. Something was wrong but she couldn’t totally bring herself to care. She realized a little too late that she’d been screaming. She bit her knuckles to stop, but the alarm had been sounded, and when she turned around, Zola was standing just outside her cell.

He came in--this time alone--pulled yet another needle out of his pocket, and jabbed it into her arm. Her body went limp, the pain vanished, and her vision went blurry. She was vaguely aware of being carried and moments later she was dropped onto a cold, metal table.

“What is the problem, Zola?” a brittle voice asked. She could hear footsteps entering the room behind them, shuffling to a halt.

“I fear the worst. We always knew the serum used on you was corrupted but I had hoped my interventions would have solved the problem. Clearly I was wrong. I believe she’s having a miscarriage.”

“Dispose of her then. She is useless to us. Get Faustus. He has some kind of love for her. Make him get rid of her."

“Yes, mein Herr.” Zola said, and he ran out of the room.

What could have been hours later--Natasha wasn’t conscious of time passing any more--Faustus was leaning over her, stroking the side of her face.

“It’s alright, my dear. It’s over now. Sleep.”

She remembered closing her eyes and feeling thankful that she wouldn’t be in pain anymore. Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey would mourn her but they could survive it. They would be able to pick up the pieces after her death. She didn’t like the idea of them burying her, but she didn’t have to. She wouldn’t be there to see it.

* * *

She woke up in a much colder place. She wasn’t sure if this was Dante’s hell or if, somehow, Faustus had saved her, but she was thirsty and there was something jammed down her nose. She pulled the tube out and tried to focus on her surroundings. There was a glass of water off to her left, and she rolled over to try and grab it but was pulled up short by something attached to her chest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice came from the other side of the room.

“What the hell did you do to me?” She asked, noticing a light coming from her chest.

“What I did? What I did was save your life.”

***

The moment she realized she remembered everything fractured something in her. She hated the Extremis virus more bitterly than anything else before it. Knowing, remembering everything, wasn’t something she’d been prepared for and she found herself wishing they’d left her for dead in the park. The memories she’d always had of the few months she’d spent in the caves with Yinsen were painful enough, this was going to break her.

Jarvis drove her back to the tower while she struggled to keep it together in the back seat. She did her best to stare blankly out the window, refusing to meet Jarvis’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Manhattan, one of the most interesting places in the world, seemed dull and gray in the wake of that terrible memory. She silently thanked whoever it was that had the forethought to bring her a pair of sunglasses as her eyes filled with tears.

Jarvis took them through the delivery entrance around the back of the tower and helped her into the freight elevators up to one of the corporate floors, where they then headed up to the penthouse. Jarvis gently guided her to her room and into her bed, ever the rock she knew she could depend on.

“Can I bring you anything, Ms. Stark?” he asked gently.

“I’m fine,” it was all she could do to keep her voice even while he was still in the room, “thank you, Jarvis.”

He tucked the duvet over her shoulders, turned out the light, and disappeared from the room.

In his absence, she curled in on herself and broke apart. The ebb and flow of the pain hit her over and over and over again until she started to believe it would unmake her. She started to wish it would. This wasn’t supposed to be how her life was. She was Natasha Stark, the daughter of Howard Stark, and the heiress to his legacy. She was stronger than this. Her career, her friends, her life as Iron Man were the only things that mattered; at least the only things that should matter. She just couldn’t shake the ache in the pit of her stomach that tried to tell her differently.  
A whole future she could never have seemed to play through her mind like a movie. She could have had a child, could have raised it to appreciate the same things she did, to teach it how to work with its tiny hands to create, to improve… She could have been a mother.

But that wasn’t reality. It would never be her reality and--in all honesty--that was okay.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed curled up mourning that memory, but it was apparently long enough for Steve to have slept a few hours and make his way to the tower. He sank down on the bed next to her and wordlessly stroked her hair, looking down at her with his soft blue eyes-- concern etched all over his face.

Impulsively she sat up and pulled herself toward him, practically sitting in his lap. He folded his arms around her and kissed her hair.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“No,” she choked out, “but I will be. Just… Just stay, okay?”

“Okay.”


	11. I Wish you Would

The next morning, Nick Fury sent a few of his goons in a helicopter to remove Natasha from her lab and drop her off on the helicarrier’s deck. Fury himself was waiting for her and had her follow him down to a conference room off the bridge. They’d spent the last forty-five minutes arguing about revealing Iron Man’s identity, Fury growing closer to losing his temper every second.

“You can keep asking all you want, Cyclops. I told you when I agreed to fund the team, Iron Man’s identity stays with me,” she said, glaring at him.

“I told you to get your house in order, Stark. If we’re going to move the Initiative to phase two, Iron Man needs to be sorted out. I’ve already had questions from both Captain Rogers and

Romanova about his whereabouts in addition to a formal complaint filed by Janet van Dyne in regards to his absence during the last mission.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, Nick. I made him a promise when he signed on that I wasn’t going to give up his identity. If I do now, we’ll probably just lose him altogether.”

“Knock it off, Stark. You and I both know who he actually is. Either come clean to the team that you’re the one wearing the suit, or I’m kicking Iron Man off the team permanently and we’ll figure something else out.”

Natasha had been hoping the threat of Iron Man’s departure would scare Fury off track, but he obviously didn’t care anymore. Either she admitted who she was, or she was out of the Initiative.

“How did you figure it out?” she asked, intentionally not admitting anything.

“It wasn’t exactly a hard pattern to figure out. No one ever sees you for two or three days after a fight, and while I’m sure everyone else is impressed with your bodyguard, I never believed for a second that you’d come back from the dead and play the damsel-in-distress. I knew Howard pretty well; he wouldn’t have raised you to play that card.”

“I resent the implication that I ever played the damsel-in-distress card.”

“I’ve only implied you did if you aren’t Iron Man.”

Natasha glared at him. “You have to let me talk to Steve before I tell the rest of the team. I don’t think he’d forgive me if I lumped him in with everyone else.”

Fury nodded. “While we’re on the subject, when are you and Rogers planning on disclosing the nature of your relationship?”

She wasn’t sure there was a relationship to disclose yet. They had dinner a lot, often out at nice restaurants, but Natasha had a habit of doing that long before she met Steve. Yes, she had feelings for him, but he hadn’t exactly made much of a move yet and she was hesitant to push him. He was, after all, the product of a different generation. He had offered to stay at the tower with her since “the incident”, but he’d been sleeping in one of the guest rooms. The closest they ever got to a “sleepover” was when she had a nightmare, screaming herself awake until Steve showed up less than thirty seconds later. He’d stay with her until she fell asleep again, but he was always gone by morning.

“There’s nothing to disclose. We’re friends, nothing more. I’ve been trying to help him adjust to life in the 21st century.”  
Fury rolled his eye but didn’t press her. “Fine then. Tell Rogers first, but do it this afternoon. I’m calling a mandatory team meeting for 1800 tonight at the mansion. You’ll make the official announcement there.”

“If I have to. And for the record, if there was something to tell you about ‘us’ I’m sure Steve would see to that himself. He’s a stickler for the rules.”

“I know. It’s half the reason he’s in charge of the team. Now that we have the Iron Man situation sorted, you need to be debriefed about your abduction.”

“Is any of that really your business?” she asked, knowing full well most of it was.

“All of it is.”

Rolling her eyes, she launched into a lengthy explanation about Zola’s plans in Afghanistan, the failed attempt, and the quip the Skull had made about using Steve’s DNA. She assumed they’d found a way to use his genes instead of the Skull’s, seeing as the version of the serum used on him wasn’t corrupted, but she couldn’t be sure. She told him they’d taken what they needed from her and probably wouldn’t try to come after her again.

“The Skull is trying to create another child?”

“That’s what I got from it.”

Fury looked at her for a long moment. “This stays classified. Officially Natasha Stark is staying dead until we can apprehend the Skull and Doctor Zola.”

“Whatever. Are we done here?” The room suddenly felt suffocating.

“Dismissed,” Fury said, waving her from the room. “Don’t be late.”

She had to wait on the deck of the helicarrier for a full fifteen minutes before someone bothered to show up and take her back to the tower. She piggybacked her phone signal off the helicarrier’s communication channels while she waited and sent a text to Steve asking to talk.

He met her back at the tower where they ordered lunch and settled in the living room. She wasn’t exactly sure how to broach the “hey-by-the-way-I’m-Iron Man-surprise!” topic so she let the conversation drift organically.

“Um…” Steve said, fifteen or so minutes after the food came. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Feeling brave, huh?” She said, eyeing him. He looked back confused. “You’ve looked like you wanted to ask me a question for three days now. Go for it.”

“Doctor Hansen said the Extremis repaired you, I think she said it ‘made you whole’. Did it?”

She set her lo mein down on the coffee table and curled her knees up to her chest. “I think so, yes.”

“Is that why you’ve been having nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened? I wouldn’t ask but… You’re the one who told me not talking about things always makes them worse, and I’d kind of like to avoid a replay of what happened after you came back last time.”

She shot him a strained smile and closed her eyes. “You’re not wrong.” She thought about it for a second and threw caution to the wind. “If I tell you this you have to keep it between us. Fury knows, and he’s decided it’s a classified subject, completely need-to-know, which sticks me between a rock and a hard place.”

Steve shuffled on the couch. “If it’s classified maybe we shouldn’t talk about it.”

“Fury doesn’t control me and I’m going to tell whoever I damn well like. You asked, and for some reason I don't totally understand, I actually want to tell you, so quit fidgeting. Besides, in the end this involves you too.”

Steve stopped moving and locked eyes with her.

“You have to be Steve for the next few minutes. Don’t get all Stars-and-Stripes on me when I tell you this. It’s upsetting and I’ll probably cry again so just… Don’t freak out.” And she launched into the story.

Steve’s expression turned from concern, to anger, to horror as she told the story. Right toward the end she had a moment when she couldn’t catch her breath, but he stayed still on his side of the couch.

“And so now the Skull is looking for another way to make his demon child, and it turns out he’s probably figured out the solution.” She gestured to Steve, and his face fell.

“Are you seriously telling me the Skull is trying to engineer a baby? How is that even possible?” 

“Honestly I don’t know. Genetics and biology were never really my specialty.”

“And this kid, his most recent try, is… ours?”

“I’m assuming so.” She smiled sadly at him. “I’m sorry, Steve...”

“It’s not your fault.” He scooted toward her, resting a warm palm on her knee. “But we need to do something about this. Either we stop them before they succeed, or we rescue the child.”

“I’m all for stopping them from succeeding but I don't know if I can be responsible enough if there is a child. Being a mother wasn’t ever something I wanted.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “If there’s a kid, I can figure it out. It’s not on you. You’ve been through enough.”

“You really are perfect, aren’t you?” Natasha said before she could think better of it.

His hand tensed on her knee but he didn’t pull away.

“Can I ruin your day just a bit more?” Natasha asked, realizing there was never going to be a good time to spill the beans.

“There’s more?” Steve asked, his voice very small.

“Yeah…” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. Her face flushed as her heart started fluttering in her chest. “Fury says that I need to tell the team who Iron Man is, and I made him promise me I could tell you first.”

“Don’t you think that’s something Iron Man should do himself?” 

“He’s trying to.”

Steve looked confused for a second before her words sunk in. His hand dropped off her knee, and he pushed away from her.

“You’re Iron Man.”

It wasn’t a question. She looked back at him and didn’t say anything. She couldn’t gage his reaction yet, and she didn’t want to make it worse.

“You’ve been Iron Man this whole time?”

She nodded.

“Why didn't you tell me before?”

“No one knows, Steve. Not Jarvis, not Rhodey, not even Fury. Well, Fury figured it out, but I’ve never told anyone. After everything happened, the rehab, losing Pepper and Happy, pushing Rhodey out of my life, I needed to keep something for myself. Iron Man was my escape from being ‘Natasha Stark: daughter of the late Howard Stark’. Sometimes being me is exhausting. The suit was the only thing that got me out of Afghanistan alive, and I couldn’t just leave it at that. I’ve told you about Yinsen. His town was attacked a few days after I got back to California, and I couldn’t just let things be. Stark Enterprises had been double dealing under the table, and I needed to clean up my own mess. I was almost done when SHIELD came calling and it seemed like the next step. Iron Man couldn’t just disappear. People were depending on him, and for once in my life, I felt like I was doing something right.”

Steve didn’t respond for a few minutes. He looked like he was either going to shout at her, throw something, or cry. She seriously doubted that last one.

The expression on his face didn't change, but his knuckles had turned white by the time he decided to respond.

“This explains a lot. Why you’re always missing strategy meetings, why you refuse to talk unless you have the helmet on… You had a nightmare the night you went missing, didn’t you?”

“Yeah…" she said hesitantly. "I wasn’t ready to tell anyone about Iron Man yet, and I was pretty sure you’d hate me when you found out it was me in the suit."

“I’m not exactly ecstatic about it. I hate that you’re putting yourself in danger all the time but so does everyone else on the team. You can take care of yourself. I think we need to have a serious discussion about your need to constantly martyr yourself during fights though. You need a better strategy.”

“Yeah… I’m kind of sick of breaking my ribs.”

“When are you going to tell everyone else?”

“Fury’s calling a mandatory meeting in a few hours back at the mansion."

“Good. We’ve got time then.”

“What does that mean?”

Steve shifted on the couch again, this time settling much closer to Natasha than he’d been before. He reached out and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Her hair had finally started to grow out again and she was grateful for it. She hated how harsh the pixie cut had been.

“Not much, but you promised we’d watch The Hunger Games. Apparently there’s a joke there to do with Clint?”

“Ha. Yeah. We need to start calling him Katniss. It’ll do him some good.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch. Steve was horrified to find out the Hunger Games involved children killing each other. He was also staunchly team Peeta.  
About an hour before the meeting they split up, Steve to head back to the mansion to get things set up, Natasha down to the workshop to figure out how she was going to break the news.

* * *

Fury had them meet in the main living room. Clint settled himself in one of the arm chairs upside down with Natalia perched on the arm next to him. Hank, Bruce, and Jan were seated on the couch in that order. Jan looked huffy again but she kept whatever was running through her brain to herself. Thor was, once again, off on Asgard. Fury claimed they could fill him in on the meeting when he got back, whenever that would be. Steve stood next to Fury, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Where’s Shellhead?” Clint asked.

“You’ll find out in a minute.” Steve said.

Fury took a step forward, addressing the room. “Natasha Stark’s death—“

“She died!?” Jan interrupted.

Fury glared at her. “Don’t interrupt. Natasha Stark’s death has been leaked to the public and, for now, she’s going to remain dead as far as they are concerned. There was an eleventh-hour solution and she’s fine but we don’t want anyone outside this room to know that. As for Iron Man, I’ve made the decision that--for the good of the team--he needs to disclose his identity. All of you have been trusting enough and now it’s his turn.”

Right on cue, Natasha walked in the room holding one of Iron Man’s faceplates and set it on the coffee table with a loud thunk.

“I’m Iron Man.”


	12. That Old Black Magic

Clint jumped out of his chair and yelled “I knew it!” Natalia rolled her eyes and stalked out of the room. Hank and Bruce both looked stunned and Jan, forever in a foul mood when Hank was in the room, glared over the coffee table.

“How the hell could you have possibly known that, Clint?” Natasha asked.

“A ninja never reveals his secrets,” he taunted.

“Which translates to he had no idea but he wants to seem special.” Bruce said. “Have you always been Iron Man?”

“Since Afghanistan, yes.”

“I always figured the arc-reactor technology powered the suit but you connected it directly to yours, didn’t you?” Hank asked fascinated.

“Up until a few days ago, yeah.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the ‘eleventh-hour solution’ Nick mentioned kind of hit the reset button and I regenerated… New heart, lungs, liver… I don’t need the arc-reactor anymore.”

Hank’s jaw dropped and Bruce looked unconvinced so, completely taking the room by surprise, she flashed them.

“Ugh. Can you maybe not do that?” Clint called from the corner.

“I second that,” said Steve. He could feel his face flushing.

“Prudes.” But she put down her shirt. “Can we be done with this conversation now?”

Fury coughed. “So long as no one breathes a word about you being alive still, then yes.” And he turned from the room.

Steve unfolded his arms and strode across the living room back to the kitchen. He wasn’t all that excited about Natasha being Iron Man, and if he had to admit it, he was kind of hoping she’d want to give it up now that they knew what the Red Skull was doing. But putting outdated expectations on her wasn’t the right thing to do.

As much as he’d always wanted to be a father, Steve knew that by virtue of being Captain America he’d thrown away any chance he’d ever had at a normal life. Even if he’d made it home from the war, he would have been expected to stay close to Washington D.C. and toe the party line. Someone somewhere would have made use for him, especially knowing about the Cold War. He couldn’t imagine what they would have done with him then. Maybe being trapped in the ice was a good thing after all. Funny how hindsight works.

He’d leaned up against the fridge, lost in thought, and was startled when he felt a hand on his wrist. He looked up to find Natasha leaning against the island in front of him.

“Hey there, soldier. Penny for your thoughts?”

He looked up at her, torn between lecturing her for flashing Bruce, lashing out about the Iron Man thing, or wanting to talk about HYDRA. He decided to go with the less contentious topic.

He sighed. “I was just thinking about HYDRA. You and I need to figure out where they are and fast. I’m not sure what information we need to share with the rest of the team but I think it’s safe to say that we need to keep Fury out of the loop.”

Natasha furrowed her brow. “I agree. But, and I realize this is a little hypocritical coming from me, we need to take some time and plan this out. I know we don’t have time to waste but we can’t just go in there half-cocked.”

“Fair point. What do you suggest we do then?”

“Well, I had plans to drop Stark Tower off the grid tonight. I’ve been working on viable ways for the arc-reactor to become a cornerstone in the clean-energy market, and this was going to be my test run. I suggest you come back with me to the tower and we can talk about it there.”

It didn’t sound like the worst idea he’d ever heard, but not actively planning made him nervous. “You’re sure we can figure this out tonight? I don’t like just sitting on this information.”

“Steve, they didn’t already have a kid when I was there. I don’t exactly know their timetable but I don’t think even HYDRA can make a baby in a week and a half.”

“Okay.” He said. His palms itched to do something but he knew they needed to take a step back and think this all through.

* * *

Jarvis ordered them dinner while they sat in the living room discussion strategy. Natasha had told him she was Iron Man while Steve was back at the mansion, and Jarvis hadn’t taken it well.

Apparently, according to Natasha, he was unimpressed with the flippant way she treated her life. Steve agreed.

After they ate, Natasha insisted on sticking to her original plans and took off to connect the tower to the arc-reactor. He didn’t realize when she left that she’d taken the suit, but she landed out on the balcony and the whole sight was kind of hard to miss from his spot on the couch. He’d been reading while she was gone; there was a tattered copy of Sherlock Holmes sitting on the side table.

“What are you doing reading Jarvis’s book?” she asked as she came in from the balcony. The armor was missing but she had a briefcase in her hand.

“It was just sitting here. Where did the armor go?”

“It’s in here,” she said, patting the briefcase. “I’ve been experimenting with Extremis’s connection to the armor.”

“Interesting. You’ll have to explain it to me later. Did everything work?”

“Went off without a hitch,” she said, glowing. “The tower’s officially off the grid. I’m planning on retrofitting the mansion as soon as I have the time.”

“Not a bad idea.” He was stalling for time. So much had happened in the last week that he didn’t know where to start.

Natasha crossed the room, settling herself down next to him on the couch. She curled up and dropped her head on his shoulder. He put his arm around her, instantly wondering if that was the right thing to do.

He hadn't had the time to process the information that she was Iron Man yet. He knew nothing he said was going to make any difference in her decision to continue to be Iron Man. He wanted to grab her shoulders and scream at her, to tell her that she was being stupid and reckless. But how could he do that when they literally ran every mission together. He'd be a hypocrite, and she'd call him on it.

He was pretty sure his issue with her being Iron Man had everything to do with how he felt about her, but he wasn't sure he was ready for that conversation. Whatever this relationship was, it wasn't serious yet, and he didn't want to scare her off by telling her that he was, by his own admission, head over heels for her. To be honest, he was a little out of his depth. He'd not had a girlfriend before the war, and now he wasn't sure he understood how dating was supposed to go.

Knowing that she was in the suit made him physically ill, if he thought about it. They'd sparred one too many times for him to think she was weak, but he'd never pulled a punch, not to mention the couple of times they'd lost their tempers over tactical decisions. The thought of it made him wince.

They stayed curled up on the couch like that for a few minutes without speaking. Steve had started tracing circles on her upper arm. Eventually Jarvis came in, breaking their trance.

“There is an Agent Coulson here to see you, ma’am.”

“I’m not in. I’m actually out.”

“I’m afraid he’s insisting.”

“Close the door, Jarvis. I’ve got a date."

"I'm afraid he can hear you, ma’am."

"Tell him I’m a Life Model Decoy.”

“Not really an excuse I’d fall for. Director Fury has a meticulous log of where all of them are,” Coulson said, stepping around the corner.

Steve withdrew his arm and stood up. Natasha shot him a look but stood up, too.

“We have a situation that we’d like you to consult on, Ms. Stark."

“Consulting hours are between eight and five every other Thursday,” she deadpanned.

Steve rolled his eyes. “How can we do help you, Phil?”

“Phil? Ah, his first name is ‘Agent’,” Natasha said.

Steve ignored her.

“There has been an incident at a SHIELD facility up state. We need her to look over this file as soon as possible.”

“This is an Avengers mission, isn’t it?” Steve asked.

“Most likely. We’ve lost the Tesseract, and Thor’s brother is behind it.”

It took a lot of willpower for Steve not to crush the papers in his hand. “You had the Tesseract?”

“Yes. We were holding it in a secure facility upstate but security’s been breached and the cube is gone. Agent Barton was there when it happened.”

“Clint?” Natasha asked. “But he was just at the mansion. Is he ok?”

Coulson winced. “He’s compromised, but Agent Romanova will handle it.”

Natasha snorted.

“At any rate. We need the team to assemble and track down the cube. You’re going to have to put your date on hold.”


	13. It's Time

Kidnapping Natasha Stark had been a rash decision. It had very nearly ruined their plans, and now that Stark was dead, it was going to be much more difficult to infiltrate the Avengers Initiative. Their hold on SHIELD was as strong as ever, but unfortunately, the Avengers answered directly to the UN and the World Security Council. It was possible their timetable had been pushed back years.

Zola, in his infinite wisdom, had sought a better host for his genetic experiment and had finally made the right choice. This woman, Agent 13 he believed she was called, had submitted to Doctor Faustus’s control completely. From her first session with him she’d been entirely under their control. Faustus kept her in a catatonic state, ensuring no harm came to her or the child. In addition, HYDRA could not risk the child bonding with another person. If Zola’s ultimate plan was to work, the only bonds the child would create would be with its brothers. The child was born a few short days after the incident with Natasha Stark.

Zola began referring to the child as der Spinner. He never made any indication that he was interested in the child past genetically engineering him but constantly kept a watch on him as if the child was going to suddenly disappear. Zola would have denied to the grave that he felt something for the child; if there was an emotion there, it was awe at his own creation rather than attachment to the thing itself. Zola loved to revel in his genius.

The child was kept in an isolation room tucked away in a quiet corner of the compound in an effort to keep the child from bonding with anyone. All involved were required to wear masks that covered their whole face. No one was permitted to engage the child. No one spoke to it; no one cared for it beyond the simple task of keeping it alive. Zola would have much preferred the child be taken care of by an army or robots, but there were some things metal was incapable of doing, and the child was too precious, too unique, to risk its wellbeing.

SHIELD still had no idea how much of its own agency HYDRA had managed to infiltrate, but they weren’t yet strong enough to come out of the shadows to claim SHIELD as their own. An unwelcome side effect meant that Zola was required to share his research space with the entirety of the US division of HYDRA. This presented yet another unique issue in relation to the child as the Skull demanded its very existence be kept a secret from all but a few of the most trusted agents. Its genetic heritage was known only to Doctor Zola and the Skull; the most vital secret to their plans. But the corridor leading to the isolation room had never been properly blocked off and one or two of the more skilled agents had wandered in its direction. One in particular spent too much time wandering the compound, almost as if he was searching for secrets he had no intention of telling HYDRA. But the Winter Solider had always been a little off, and Zola and the Skull left him to his own devices. It was better that way.

The isolation room had a two-way mirror that Zola had taken to using to observe the child. While it wasn’t capable of doing anything quite as interesting as it would in the coming years, its very existence defied nature, and Zola was fascinated. He had taken to keeping details journals of the child’s behavior, which was unnecessary. The child was oddly quiet. When awake it stared up at the ceiling above it rather than fuss for attention. It looked around its crib at the white walls as if there was something of interest there but never did anything out of the ordinary. When a masked agent entered the room the child ignored him, as if it was below its status to acknowledge the intruder's presence. It would just stare dutifully at the ceiling above it. Perhaps, thought Zola, the Skull was right to ensure the child never heard a human voice.

“What is that?"

Far too distracted by the child in the crib, Zola almost jumped out of his skin at the question. That damned soldier was too quiet for his liking.

“I call it der Spinner. A child we have… procured to raise up and end the Avengers.”

The soldier said something in Russian Zola couldn’t understand. He looked over, the metal casing of the soldiers robotic arm momentarily blinding him. The soldier's eyes were squinted in obvious apprehension.

“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. Not to mention the years of training it will require to become an asset. Until then you have created nothing more than a weakness. I don’t need a little brother to clean up my messes.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Zola replied, turning his attention back to the child. “It is not your sibling. To suggest that is to suggest that you have a family. Or are you having another one of your ‘Barnes’ moments again?” He looked back up at the indiscriminate face of the soldier standing beside him, contemplating the necessity of a reset. The soldier looked back down at him, a murderous look in his eye and said something in Russian again, an obvious insult. He turned his back to Zola and stalked off around the corner. Zola had enough of the child for the day and returned to his office, slamming the door behind him.

The Winter Soldier continued to walk through the labyrinth of hallways. Zola, in fact most HYDRA agents, knew that ‘Barnes’ was an off-limits topic and he, Zola, was lucky he wasn’t in the mood to have to clean the crevices of his artificial arm. One good hit and Zola would have been neutralized. It would have been the reaction the Skull expected; that was what he was trained to do. He walked into the first empty room he could find and was startled a bit when the screen in the corner of the room started to make noise.  
It was a news report about some stupid political debate in Washington DC but the Winter Solider was unable to look away from it. Almost as if the station knew they had his full attention, an urgent news story broke across the screen. Aliens. In New York. Aliens fighting the Avengers. And… who was that they just flashed across the screen. Why did he know that face? It was right on the tip of his tongue. Who was he?

And then it hit him. _Steve_. That was Steve. Bucky looked around the room, the moment of lucidity hitting him like a stick across the head. How could Steve still be alive? Shouldn’t he have died years ago? Sure, he’d taken up with that stupid super solider thing but surely it didn’t stop him aging. This was all wrong. He knew the intervening years had happened; they’d both technically died during the war. He knew that HYDRA found him and turned him into this… monster. But Steve hadn’t come back for Bucky and the only way that would happen was if Steve had died himself. He had to be dead. He couldn’t be in New York… alive, whole, untouched by time. This was insane.

Bucky looked around, trying to remember where he was. Brooklyn. That much he knew. He was home, if you could call it that anymore. He could run for it, but HYDRA would find him. They always had in the past. How long had it been since Bucky remembered who he was? A decade? Two? And then he remembered that child, the one he had referred to as a brother. Maybe he didn’t have a family. HYDRA had seen to that, but he wasn’t about to let this child be controlled by them. He had to have a family somewhere. Zola had used the world “procured” which Bucky took to mean they stole him from somewhere. If he left the child here he could see the next eighteen years play out in his mind like a movie. The child would never have a chance at a normal life. He would become a monster, HYDRA would mold him into a monster just like they had Bucky. He had to do something about it. He never knew how long his lucid moments would last, so he had to act fast. He was that kid’s only hope.

A flash on the screen pulled his attention back to the news report just as it flicked to an aerial shot of New York. There was no way New York was going to come out of this in one piece. Huge flying aliens were demolishing parts of Manhattan, swarms of smaller ones were doing their best to overwhelm the Avengers, and a weird, blue beam was shining up from the top of Stark Tower. It all made Bucky’s head hurt but he could see the portal open in the sky, more aliens dropping down on Manhattan every second. How was this the world he lived in now?

Shaking his head to get a grip on himself, Bucky turned away from the news report. He had to make sure that baby was out of HYDRA’s control before they realized he was lucid; that he was working against them. Quietly he ducked back into the hall and retraced his steps to the two-way mirror. Zola was nowhere to be seen but Bucky was sure he was being watched by no less than five camera. He surreptitiously looked around him to discover the hall was completely devoid of surveillance equipment. The Skull obviously didn’t want any trace of the child at this age. His loss. Scanning the isolation room through the mirror, Bucky couldn’t find another camera. For some reason, luck was on his side today. He walked quickly over to the door and set his steel hand on the knob. His luck held out. He twisted the knob, finding no resistance, and the door swung in on itself. He took one long, steadying breath and darted into the room. He scooped the child up from its crib and tucked it close against his chest. He ran back out into the hallway, forgetting to close the door behind him.

He had done enough exploration of the compound that he knew the best corridors to use if he wanted to be left alone. Tracing the familiar path, he remembered that he would look insane walking through the streets of New York with a baby in tow if he stayed in his HYDRA gear. There was a storage shed behind the main building that would probably have what he needed, but he had to find a way to get there without raising suspicion. If he wanted to cross the courtyard undisturbed, he would have to lose the kid. He darted back to the deserted room with the screen, opened the first drawer that looked big enough and set the child down. He hesitated for less than a second before he shut the drawer again and headed for the storage shed.  
If Bucky didn’t know better, he would have accused HYDRA of hoarding. It seemed like they had preserved every issue of the HYDRA uniform since the war. It took him several minutes to rummage through the mess before he found something from this century. The black fabric was thin, but it would do. He threw it on and headed back for the kid.

Fortunately most of HYDRA’s attention was focus on the battle raging in New York and he was able to get out of the compound without running into anyone. Not that anyone would have questioned him. The Winter Soldier came and went when he pleased and no one ever questioned him about it other than Zola. He was able to find a cab without too much difficulty, which was insane. Manhattan was under attack, but Brooklyn seemed to be just fine. More luck, Bucky thought. He was able to convince the cab driver to take him as far as the bridge, and then he was on his own.

He darted out of the cab and behind an overturned car just as a swarm of aliens flew overhead. This, thought Bucky, is the worst idea ever. In the commotion the child woke up, its bright blue eyes looked up at Bucky… Something about it was too familiar to him. The child reached his hand up toward Bucky’s face, and he leaned down into the tiny palm, its warmth spread across his chin melting the anxiety that had been growing in his chest. He tucked the child into his jacket and zipped it up, willing the thin cotton to keep the baby from falling onto the pavement. He darted in and out of the hoards of fleeing New Yorkers, a few of them stopping to warn him that he was headed in the wrong direction, but he ignored them. He ran toward the one place he knew the child would be safe; the one place HYDRA wouldn’t have any influence. It helped that it was the most secure building in the city these days. When SHIELD and Stark Enterprises teamed up, they took it pretty seriously.

Avengers Mansion took up an entire block of Fifth Avenue across the street from the park and it was Bucky’s one shot at freedom for the child. He had two options. Either he could risk the time it would take and try to avoid the heavier parts of the battle, or he could follow the most direct course and get the kid to the mansion ASAP. Weighing his options, Bucky realized there probably wasn’t anywhere in Manhattan that wasn’t part of the battle. The alien invasion made the decision for him. He tried to stay covered as much as possible but there seemed to be a constant stream of aliens flying through the hole in the sky, and he had difficulty hiding from them. Twice he had to defend himself against them and twice he was able to crush their windpipes with a lazy twitch of his metal hand. He progressed slowly and steadily toward midtown, constantly checking to make sure the child was secure in his jacket.

When he was within a block of the mansion, he had to duck under another overturned car to avoid the Avengers. Steve was there, standing about fifteen feet to his left, and it took everything Bucky had in him not to run over and hug him. It would have to wait… Assuming he stayed lucid long enough. Maybe after he delivered the child he could find a way to fight with the Avengers and avoid HYDRA, but he doubted it. They were too skilled at finding him, and last time knew who he was, it wasn’t even HYDRA that erased Bucky again. It just happened.

He watched as Steve commanded the other Avengers, coordinating them to ensure they were participating in a way that would maximize their efficiency. He watched Steve for a few minutes, his heart aching at the loss they had both sustained, the monsters they had both become. Steve was still a good guy, but he wasn’t Steve anymore. Nothing was right.

The child wiggled in his jacket, jarring Bucky back to the present day. Making sure none of the Avengers could see him, he ran across the street, down an alley way, and made it to the front gates of the mansion. They had been blown off their hinges, a cab had been thrown into them and parts of the lawn were smoldering. Bucky didn’t think twice before darting through them, past the cab, and in through the front doors of the mansion. HYDRA had been trying to find a way in there for over a year, and he fully expected Stark to have made sure it was protected with all the latest and greatest, but the entry hall was empty; the house was completely silent. He dashed across the hall and took the stairs two at a time, slamming the first door open with his shoulder. The room was clearly lived in so the risk of leaving the kid on the bed was minimal and, before he could think twice about it, dropped the child on the blankets. He looked down at its far too small frame, reminding himself that this was the right thing, the only thing, he could do. Without a backwards glance he turned away, shut the door behind him, and ran back down the stairs.

Back at the front door, Bucky took in his surroundings. This was probably the safest place to take that kid but he still had reservations about it. HYDRA would never stop looking for him, and when they figured out Bucky had played a role in the child’s disappearance… well, he didn’t want to think about it. He turned the door handle sharply, ran back out the gates, and down Fifth. Maybe--if he was still very, very lucky--he could make it back to Brooklyn before HYDRA even realized he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beta ends here. I'm still working on this and I might need a second beta to look at the second half of this if anyone is interested. :)


	14. I'll Never Smile Again

“Call it, Cap.” Natasha said.

“Alright, listen up. Until we can close that portal up there, we’re gonna use containment. Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays. Natasha, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or turn it to ash. Thor, you’ve gotta try and bottleneck that portal. Slow them down. You’ve got the lightning. Light the bastards up. Hank and Jan, you two get the leviathan. Take them out or keep them busy. Widow, you and me, we stay on the ground, keep the fighting here. And, Hulk? Smash.”

The team broke apart under Steve’s instructions. He was pretty sure they didn’t stand a chance under the near constant stream of aliens coming through the portal but they had to try. He switched his com to Ironman’s channel.

“Natasha, be safe.”

“Steve, don’t worry about me. Keep your head in the game. If you didn’t know it was me in the suit would you be this worried?”

“You’ve got a point.” He said, wishing she wasn’t right. “I’ll see you back at the mansion when this is all through.”

“It’s a date.”

He turned his attention back to the fight, finally feeling useful again. He shut out the worry and the anger he was feeling about Natasha and focused on the rhythm of the battle.

“Captain, none of this is going to mean a damn thing if we don’t close that portal.” Natalia said a while later.

“Our biggest guns couldn’t touch it.”

“Maybe it’s not about guns.” She gestured up to the tower.

“You wanna get up there you’re gonna need a ride.”

“I got a ride,” she said, looking up at the sky, “I could use a lift though.”

She backed up, ready to spring.

“You sure about this?” Steve heard himself say.

“Yeah,” she said, not completely confidently, “it’s gonna be fun.”

She ran at him, launched herself off the front of an overturned car, and jumped onto the shield. Steve jumped and threw her into the air just as one of the aliens flew by. She grabbed on and was gone.

Steve turned away and ran down the street headlong into another swarm. They kept him occupied for a while until Natalia’s voice came over the com.

“I can close it. Can anyone hear me? I can close the portal down!”

“Do it!” Steve said, relief washing over him. Maybe they actually had a chance at saving the city.

“No, wait!” Natasha said.

“Stark, these things are still coming!”

“I got a nuke coming in, it’s gonna blow in less than a minute. And I know just where to put it.”

“Natasha! You know that’s a one way trip.”

Steve switched his com back to the private channel.

“Natasha…”

“Steve, you know this is the only option. The suit’s been programmed to save all remaining power for the return. I’ll meet you at the mansion. I prom—“ and the com went out.  
It took everything he had not to scream. The nuke had clearly blown on the other side of the portal and Natasha was gone.

“Come on Stark…” he heard over the com.

“Close it.” He said. She wasn’t coming back and she would have been pissed if they’d wasted precious time hoping.

Natalia listened and the beam of light from the top of Stark Tower shut off and the portal began to close.

Whether it was repayment for all the years stuck in the ice or because Natasha was the luckiest woman in the history of the world, the limp form of Iron Man fell through the portal just as it closed. She dropped, much too quickly, toward the earth but Hulk, in all his glory, managed to catch her before she hit the ground.

Hulk dropped her on the ground at Steve’s feet and he damn near lost it. He hit the faceplate with the edge of the shield and it came loose to reveal her face. Her eyes were shut and she didn’t look like she was breathing.

“Nononononononononononono” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled her limp form into his lap. Panic threatened to overtake him. Nothing about today was working the way it should have and now he'd most likely lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

Hulk chose that exact moment to make the loudest sound Steve had ever heard and Natasha started, her eyes flying open as she took a gasping breath.

“What the hell? What just happened?” Her eyes were flying wildly around until they landed on Steve’s face. “Hey soldier.”

Steve rolled his head back and choked out something halfway between and sob and a laugh. 

“Hey, yourself. I don’t know whether I should kiss you or hit you for that.”

“Eh. I saved New York almost single handedly. I think kiss.”

“Later.”

Most of the team met back up at the mansion after the hours long debriefing session on the helicarrier. Clint had stayed behind with his girlfriend, and Thor had gone off with Jane, a face and name Steve didn’t recognize. He didn’t say when or if he’d be coming back. Natasha left the Ironman suit back at Stark Tower and let Steve drag her by the hand up to his bedroom where he pulled her into his chest the minute the door closed behind them.

“Don’t think for one second that we aren’t going to fight about everything that’s happened in the last few days. Because we will. There will be yelling and screaming and, if I know you, things will be thrown. You’ll probably call me an ass and I’ll tell you you’re being an idiot and we’ll both want to storm out at some point. That will all happen. But not right now.” He kissed the top of her head and, if possible, wound his arms around her even tighter.

“Deal,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He shuffled them over towards the bed, intending to take a well deserved nap, when Natasha’s whole body went stiff.

“Umm, Steve. Remember when we talked about what the Red Skull was up to with Doctor Zola?”

“Yeah…. why?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why but an anxious feeling had started to grow in his chest.

“I think I was off on the timeline. There’s a baby on your bed and I’d bet 200-1 it’s ours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for how Avengers-y this chapter was... I didn't want to just jump into after the fight seeing as Steve would (understandably) freak out when Natasha (Tony) took the nuke through the worm hole.


	15. I Know Places

"How did he end up here?" Natasha blurted out. It probably wasn't the most pressing issue but it was one that would eventually need answers.

Steve didn't seem to hear her. He dropped his arms, releasing Natasha. She crossed the room and dropped to the floor next to the bed, extending her hand out to touch the baby.

“I thought you said we had time.” Steve said. He’d dropped down on the edge of the bed, staring at the child.

“I just told you. I think I was off on the timeline. Zola played me. Obviously he’d been born before they took me.”

“What makes you think it’s a he?”

“Zola doesn’t exactly strike me as a feminist. I don’t think he’d see value in creating a girl.”

“Fair point.”

Natasha brushed the tips of her fingers over the child’s arm. It stirred but didn’t wake up. He had dark hair, the same color as hers. Looking at his little face it was impossible to distinguish who he looked more like; her or Steve.

She suddenly realized everything she most feared in the world was in this room. A hollow feeling built in the pit of her stomach as she thought about it. Steve had become more important to her than she was willing to admit to herself and they weren’t even an official item. She had grown so attached to him in the last few months that, if he left her, she wasn’t sure she’d want to survive it. She could, she just didn’t want to.

And then there was the tiny human sleeping on the bed. She knew, absolutely knew, that she would make a terrible mother. She hadn’t asked for this; HYDRA had made the decision for her. But here she was. Exhausted from saving the world, in serious need of a shower, and grappling with one of the biggest life decisions she’d ever make. Should she just take the plunge and try? She’d probably just screw him up…

“Stop over thinking it, Natasha.” Steve said, eyeing her. “We talked about this before. I’m not expecting anything from you. He needs parents but that doesn’t have to be you if you don’t want it to be. You could just be the really cool aunt or his dad’s best friend. It doesn’t matter.”

“What makes you so convinced you have to be his parent? It’s not like this was something you were planning on. For fuck’s sake, Steve, we haven’t even slept together much less decided what we are…” She gestured between them with her free hand.

“It doesn’t really matter if this is something I asked for or not, he’s here and I have a responsibility to him. I —“

Natasha interrupted him. “Don’t make yourself the martyr, Steve. You don’t owe him anything. Hell, we still don’t even know if this is the HYDRA baby. You haven’t even been out of the ice long enough to have a life of your own again. Do you really want to throw all that away because some fascist scientist decided to play god?”

Steve didn’t say anything for a second. He stared at her, clearly at a loss for words.

“I have a life, Natasha. I have the team, I have my position at SHIELD, and I have you. There’s not really a lot else I could have asked for besides being a father.” He held his hand up to stop her from interrupting. “I always wanted to be a father. Always. Even after I signed up for Project: Rebirth and basically sold my soul to the government, I wanted a family. And I have one. I think… I think New York changed a lot of things. I think we’re finally going to mesh as a team and I’m so happy about that, really, I am. But the one thing in the whole world that I’m just a little more excited about is currently tugging on your index finger.”

The baby had finally woken up, his blue eyes locked on Natasha’s face. She felt x-rayed; exposed like a raw nerve.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way.” She said, looking back at Steve.

“We never really had the chance to talk about it. I only found out about the possibility of him like five seconds before Loki ruined our weekend.”

Natasha chanced a smile. “Fair point.”

“Regardless though, he needs a family. I am his family and I want to be that for him.”

“You really don’t have to, Steve. I know you, I don’t want you to make a huge decision like this out of some kind of misplaced feeling of duty just because he’s genetically half yours.”

“Were you even listening to me before?” He said, sounding exasperated. “I want him, Natasha. Bad.”

“Ok, but how? How on earth can you be Captain America: defender of freedom, Steve Rogers: expert SHIELD tactician, and Dad: reader of bedtime stories? There aren’t enough hours in the day.”

“I’ll figure it out. I can be involved in his life and not be there every second. I’ll make the time; he’s important enough. If I need help I can ask for it. Maybe hire a nanny for when I can’t be there or find a daycare service… It doesn’t really matter. He needs me and I’m going to be there for him.”

“I will never understand how you ended up being so perfect.”

Steve flushed. “Yeah, well, you’re not so bad yourself.”

Natasha reached out and placed her free hand on Steve’s knee. “I don’t know what I can handle yet. Can I have some time to make a decision? I don’t want to throw him away just because I’m feeling scared and, frankly, half asleep in this exact moment.”

“Take whatever time you need. But if you’re going to be his mom I need you to promise me you’ll take it seriously. It’s not something you can do for the first few years of his life and then bail on. It’s a huge commitment.”

“I know, which is why I don’t want to decide right now and fuck everything up.”  
Steve smiled sadly at her and stood up, rolling his shoulders. He looked down at the baby, hesitated for less than a second, and scooped him up in his arms. The look in his eye suddenly made Natasha feel like she was intruding.

“I’m, uh, going to go get some air. And maybe we should have Bruce take a look at him? Make sure everything’s, you know, ok?”

“Good plan.” He said, resolutely staring at the bundle in his arms.

It turned out Bruce was holed up down in the lab working on some biology project with Hank. Natasha walked in on what sounded like a particularly heated moment and leaned against the doorway, waiting for them to notice her.

“It doesn’t work that way. If you don’t give the solution—“

“DID YOU EVEN PAY ATTENTION IN MOLECULAR BIOLOGY?”

“Of course I did… You’re not paying attention now. This is a synthetic—“

“Synthetic my ass, it all works the same.” Hank slammed his hand on the table and turned to storm out of the lab. He stopped suddenly when he saw Natasha.

“Lovers spat?” She asked.

“Very funny, Stark.” said Hank.

“What can we do for you, Natasha?” asked Bruce.

“Well, I have a bit of a favor to ask but I’m not really sure this is the moment. I can come back later after the two of you have made up if you want. Just leave a sock on the door.”

“Quit being cute. What do you need?” spat Hank.

“I actually just need Bruce.”

Hank’s face turned a dangerous shade of red before he huffed out of the room.

“What can I do for you?” Bruce chanced once the door had clicked shut.  
Natasha walked back and locked it and then, for good measure, shoved a chair underneath the handle.

“Can you keep a secret?”

She launched into an explanation of what had happened in Afghanistan, gliding over the more gory issues, and explained what was waiting for him up in Steve’s room. His expression stayed the same throughout her explanation, which she thought was encouraging.

“And he’s upstairs right now?” He asked when Natasha paused.

“Yeah. We just need you to take a look at him and make sure everything’s ok.”

“I’m not, strictly speaking, a medical doctor. You do know that, right?”

“Well aware. But we can’t have him looked at by anyone else. Fury doesn’t even know and Steve and I would really like it to stay that way.”

They headed back upstairs and found Steve propped up on the edge of his bed holding the baby. He gently handed him over to Bruce and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Natasha leaned up next to him, tipping her head over to rest against his arm.

“He needs a name.” Steve said, “We can’t keep calling him ‘the baby’.”

“True. You pick. I’m not sure I get an opinion just yet. Plus, I’m sure I’ll like whatever you'd decide on.”

“How about Ian? He was a friend of mine growing up.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want to name him James.”

“I thought about it… But losing Bucky still only feels like it was a few months ago and I’m not so sure I want to put that on him when he’s so young. Maybe we can call him Ian James…”

“I like that. It’s a keeper. What about a last name?”

“You’re undecided yet and I don’t think we’re going to run out and get a birth certificate right this second, do you?”

“No… But it would probably be better if his last name wasn’t Stark. Rogers is safer.”

“We can talk about it later, after you’ve made a decision.”

“Ok.” Steve had a point. There really wasn’t a reason to decide everything right now.  
Bruce finished up the exam and promised that Ian looked the picture of health. He took some blood to test down in the lab and promised to keep the whole thing between the three of them.

Later that night Natasha excused herself from the mansion and headed back to the tower. She needed some time to clear her head and think. Steve didn’t try and stop her.  
Ian was kind of the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen, if she really thought about it. His blue eyes were exactly the same color as Steve’s, clear and bright. He had gripped onto her index finger like he was holding on to a life preserver and the strength of it took her breath away. He was perfect, in every way, and she had no idea how to process that she had anything to do with the creation of something like that.

She mulled the situation over a glass of red wine; seriously not what she wanted but it would have to do. She’d made promises to both Jarvis and Rhodey and even if she wasn’t talking to the latter anymore she intended to keep them.

Ian would probably be better off with Steve. She was known for fucking things up; stability was not an adjective people used to describe her. But she’d been more solid since the Avengers Initiative started and Ironman provided an enormous amount of responsibility that she’d been keeping up with for years at this point. So far, Ironman had stayed out of the tabloids and she intended to keep it that way.

But she was only that good when she was wearing a mask. Ian, and very often Steve, made her feel exposed and she wasn’t sure how she would handle that. Or if she could handle that. Natasha Stark had a bad habit of falling apart and relying too much on those around her to pick up the pieces.

And then there was her relationship with Steve. Nothing had been defined yet, things still felt too new. But she knew there was an emotional attachment there she didn’t want to lose. Steve was a solid constant in her otherwise insane life and she knew, viscerally, that she needed him. But dwelling on things like that were counterproductive so…

Ian. The whole thing was bizarre. She tried to think about what life would be like if Ian didn’t exist now. How her life would be different if she’d never known about him or never met him. And she tried. Life would be easier. For one, she’d probably be sprawled out asleep on Steve’s bed right this second. For a second she wouldn’t be sitting here, in the dark, trying to come up with an answer to the most difficult question she’d ever been faced with. To be a mother or not to be a mother. That is the question….

Now what the hell was the answer? Seeing the look on Steve’s face made her, if she was being honest, jealous. He knew with a level of certainty she didn’t think she’d ever have that he wanted to be Ian’s father. She’d felt similarly once, back in Afghanistan, for all of thirty seconds before she remembered HYDRA would take the child and she’d never be it’s mother.  
What would it be like to be someone’s mother? Watching Ian grow up… She could teach him how to build things in the lab, teach him all about science and technology. She could watch Steve dote on him and teach him how to draw. They could be happy together, a Leave-It-To-Beaver kind of family where both mom and dad fought to save the world but nothing mattered more than their son. And she realized then, in that moment, that that was what she wanted more than anything in the world.

She wanted Steve, for as long as he would have her. She wanted time to learn him, to learn everything about him. She wanted to raise Ian with him. She didn’t have to give anything up for it. If Steve could manage to be Captain American and Super Dad she could manage to be Ironman and Natasha Stark and Super Mom. Maybe, just maybe, they could have it all.

She headed over to the mansion first thing in the morning and caught Steve still completely passed out on his back, Ian tucked up under his chin. He’d fallen asleep with a hand over Ian’s back and the whole scene was oddly comforting. This was the right choice.

She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, easing down next to Steve, and wound her arm through the crook of his. He stirred a little, but not enough to wake up completely, and she planted a kiss on his temple.

“Don’t get up, big guy. I just came back to see how you two were doing.”

“Better, now that you’re here.” Honest Steve was her favorite Steve.

“Go back to sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

Realizing there was a double meaning in what she said, Steve opened his eyes and looked over at her.

“You’re not going anywhere right now or…”

“Or ever. I thought about it. I could just as easily go on with my life and try to forget that Ian exists but I don’t think that’s possible. I thought a lot about it, Steve. What would my life be like if he was in it, if you were in it, permanently? And it would be amazing. I don’t think it’s going to be easy. We have a lot of crap to figure out just between the two of us let alone the demands SE and SHIELD and the Avengers will put on us, but I think we can make it work. At least, I want to make it work. If, you know, you do.”

Steve’s face broke out into the widest smile Natasha had ever seen. He leaned over, careful not to jostle Ian, and kissed her, humming in contentment.

“You have no idea how much I want that.”

“Good.” She said, kissing him back.

This was the moment she would hold on to, months later, when the whole world felt like it had been torn apart. Steve’s relaxed face and the soft sound of their son sleeping. It was a wonderful moment, probably the closest she’d ever get to heaven.


	16. Style

“We can’t keep him here.” Steve said a few minutes later. 

Natasha wasn’t completely prepared to let go of the moment yet but she knew Steve had a point and they needed to hash a few things out. She wiggled out of his arm and sat up, facing him.

“I know.” She reached out and set her hand on Ian’s back, watching him breathe. She wasn’t sure she knew how to say what needed to be said and welcomed the distraction. 

“Hey,” Steve said, wrapping his free arm around her, resting his hand on her hip, “it’s OK.”

“Is it?” She looked down at him, his hair was still ruffled from sleep and his eyes were a little bloodshot. “It doesn’t feel like it. Everything I fear the most is lying in this bed. I won’t be the best mother, but I’ll try. I won’t be the best, whatever I am to you, but I can try. I’m good at two things, Steve. I can swear like a sailor and I can be Iron Man. I suck at everything else.”

Steve made a face. “You’re going to be a terrific mother. It probably won’t always feel like it, but you’ll be exactly what Ian needs. As for us, I want you the way you are. I know you, I know your faults and your idiosyncrasies and how mad you get when Clint doesn’t replace the filter in the coffee machine. I’ve seen you at your best and I know about your worst and I love you for it anyway. I love all of you, not just the Iron Man part and certainly not just the part that can swear like a sailor. To me you are perfect and I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Her heart rate spiked, if she still had the arc reactor she was sure she’d feel it strain with the effort. She knew she and Steve were on the precipice of something and she certainly knew the depth of her feelings for Steve, but she hadn’t expected him to be on the same page. A warmth started to grow in her chest that had nothing to do with the circles Steve was drawing on her hip. 

“I really wish there was someway to say this without sounding like a sap, but I love you too. Probably more than I have the ability to say in this or any language. You’ve kind of become my whole world, Steve. You ground me; you make all of this worth it. I could have gone on trying to save the world and righting SE’s wrongs, but I wouldn’t have been happy and I probably would have relapsed by now. Nothing in my life is calm, or easy, or secure, except you. I think I love you more than I love me and I’m a notoriously selfish person, ask anyone.”

Steve had long broken into a wide grin again. “I don’t think you’re as selfish as you think you are. You’re probably one of the most selfless people I know, at least in ways that actually count. But it doesn’t matter. I love you anyway.”

“Is this what we’re going to do now, just sit here and say ‘I love you’ back and forth until Ian wakes up?” Natasha teased. 

“I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks that I feel this way, so, yes, I’m going to keep saying I love you. Deal with it.” 

“If I must.” She rolled her eyes sarcastically and layed back down next to Steve, tangling her legs with his, and started playing with Ian’s hair. He wound his arm back around her, continuing to idly draw circles on her hip. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Ian hadn’t moved an inch since Natasha’d first laid down next to Steve and it was oddly peaceful to watch him breathe. 

“We should move to the tower.”

“We, huh?” Steve teased. 

“Right, because I’m going to leave you here.”

Steve smiled. “Like I’d let you. What are we going to tell the team?”

Natasha hesitated for a second. “The truth, or at least most of it. They all know you and I have been flirting with making this thing official for a while, we might as well just pull the trigger. They’ll just assume we’re moving too fast. They don’t need to know about Ian.”

Ian started to stir, his blue eyes fluttered open and fell on Natasha’s face, the force of it surprising her. The color was identical to Steve’s, an excellent reminder that Ian was half his too. Something welled up in her chest, an emotion she wasn’t familiar with, as Ian continued to look at her. She traced his hairline and tried to fight the instinct to pull him to her. 

Eventually she sat up next to Steve and pulled Ian into her lap on his back. He reached out and grabbed her finger with a level of strength she wasn’t expecting from someone so small and it completely captivated her.

“So,” Natasha said after a while, “Fury’s sending me to California today and I kind of need you and Ian to come with me.”

“And why does Fury want us in California?” Steve asked, not missing a beat. The fact that he didn’t even consider not going with her was enough to make Natasha feel like this whole thing might actually work out. 

“Everything’s basically been chaos since my official ‘death’. SE hasn’t had a chance to contact the person I named as my successor and Fury wants me to go out and explain everything to her in person.”

“So we’re going to Malibu to talk to Pepper?”

“Yeah… I can’t go alone, Steve.” She looked up from Ian, worry etched across her face. “I haven’t talked to her in over a year and even before that she didn’t seem like she wanted to be a part of my life. I left without telling anyone. I’m out of my depth here. I told you she and Happy have a kid? They named him Tony, after me. I was kind of hoping she could meet Ian. Maybe she’ll see I’ve changed and forgive me.”

Steve reached out, placing his warm hand on her cheek. “I don’t think leaving without telling her or Happy what you were doing was a great idea, but if Pepper’s really the person you’ve told me about, I think she’ll forgive you.” 

“It’s nice that you have that much confidence in me. I’m kind of worried she’ll slap me.”  
\--  
Two hours later Steve, Natasha, and Ian were loaded on a quinjet headed for Malibu to talk to Pepper. Ian was situated in her lap again, completely at ease with his surroundings. She wasn’t sure what the first few months of his life had been like but she was pretty sure there hadn’t been a child in existence that was this quite. It made her anxious, which at this point didn’t add much to the building level of anxiety she was living with. No one knew where the Red Skull and Doctor Zola were, talking to Pepper was going to be particularly painful, and now she had to pretend to be dead again. 

Steve finished talking to the pilot and slumped down in a chair across from her. 

“So what’s the plan when we get there? Are you just going to knock on the door and hope she’ll let you in the house?”

“Not exactly. I have a plan and you’re not going to like it but I need you to go along with it. You’re allowed an opinion, but you don’t know Pepper and Happy. If I try to be subtle about this she’ll ice me out and we won’t get anywhere.”

“Ok,” Steve said, his eyes narrowing,”so what’s the plan?”

Natasha laid it out for him. If they took Pepper and Happy by surprise she stood a much better chance of Pepper at least staying in the room out of shock and maybe, if she was lucky, she could explain enough to her before she ran out of the room and shut Natasha out again. It wasn’t a very good chance, Natasha was pretty sure Pepper was going to flat out refuse to help her in any way, but it was the only shot she had.  
\--  
Pepper and Happy had taken Tony to the zoo, the perfect window for Natasha to situate herself in their front room, hidden in the dark. Steve and Ian were sitting one room over, ready to intervene if Natasha needed them. She was jittering nervously on the couch when she heard keys in the lock. Her fight-or-flight instinct kicked into overdrive and it took a level of willpower she didn’t know she had to stay on the couch. Her whole body was screaming at her to run back to be with Steve. 

The door opened and Pepper walked into the foyer, Tony asleep in her arms. Happy followed and started flicking on lights. They made their way down the hall, right toward where Natasha was sitting in the dark. Happy walked in first, flicked the light on, and didn’t see her. Pepper followed and jumped. 

“Hey, Pep.” Natasha said.

Happy almost jumped out of his skin and locked eyes with Pepper, worry crossing both of their faces. 

“Take Tony upstairs.” Pepper said, looking back at Natasha.

Happy picked up the little boy out of Pepper’s arms and rushed from the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Pepper asked. 

“I needed to talk to you… And apologize for everything. There’s a lot to tell you, Pep, and I wanted it to be in person.”

“So you thought breaking into our home was the best way to do that?” Pepper’s voice was shaking. A second later Happy rounded the corner and stopped just behind Pepper, arms crossed over his chest. 

“If I’d knocked on the door you would have slammed it in my face.”

Pepper laughed bitterly, “Ever the genius. Get on with it then.”

Natasha stood up, the anxiety finally overwhelming her, making it impossible to stay on the couch. She was torn between running back to Steve and hugging Pepper; both horrible ideas. She took a steadying breath, shut her eyes, and threw caution to the wind. 

“I deluded myself to believing I was bad for you two while I was in rehab. I thought I needed a clean break and a new life somewhere far away from here. Nothing was OK after I got back from Afghanistan and you wouldn’t even talk to me so I assumed I’d fucked up enough that I’d finally pushed you away. Not hearing from you while I was in rehab kind of solidified that for me and I honestly believed that not telling you was a kindness. It wasn’t until several months later that I realized I’d made the wrong choice, but it was too late by then. 

“I can’t make up for what I did. I don’t have a good reason for asking you to forgive me beyond just telling you I’m sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, I know that, but I need you, Pep. Things have changed; I’m completely out of my depth and you’re the only one that can help me. I--”

Pepper interrupted her, her face was almost the same color as her hair. “You really thought coming back here and telling me you’re ‘sorry’ was going to be enough? You DIED, Natasha. You died and came home and then left before I could even process what was happening. Happy tried to tell you what was happening and you didn’t want to hear it. Do you even remember when he told you I was sick? That I’d been admitted to the hospital and that Tony was dying!!! Did you even care! How DARE you come back here and tell me you-- you screwed up! That doesn’t even begin to describe what you did to me. I--” Pepper cut off. The tears that welled up in her eyes spilled over and she dissolved into silent sobs. 

Happy wrapped his arms around her from behind, steadying her on her feet. It took a minute for her to compose herself before she turned back to Natasha and slapped her across the face. 

“I waited for months for you to call and explain yourself,” Pepper’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I waited for you to call and apologize and tell me you’d made a mistake and you’d come back. I mourned you the whole time you were missing and you couldn't be understanding enough to know that I needed time to process the fact that you didn’t die in Afghanistan and then I got sick. When I found out I was pregnant with Tony it felt like the world wasn’t ending anymore. Your death may have brought Happy and I back together but… I didn’t understand that life could go on until I found out about Tony. He is everything to me and when I almost lost him you either couldn’t care enough to be patient or you were too wrapped up in yourself.. You didn’t realize what Happy was telling you. Why?”

Natasha tried to think back to what Happy told her when she was in rehab but she couldn’t figure it out. All Happy ever told her was that Pepper was too pregnant to make the drive out to the rehab facility. None of this made sense. 

“Happy never--” Natasha started.

“I, umm…” Happy interjected, “I didn’t exactly tell Natasha the whole truth.”

Pepper rounded on him, her face turning red again. 

“What do you mean, you didn’t tell her everything!?” Pepper said, close to tears.

“I didn’t think she could handle it. She’d only been back a few months and she’d already killed her liver and started a fairly impressive drug habit. I didn’t want her to freak out or make things worse for you. You were sick enough as it was.”

“WHY WOULDN’T YOU TELL ME THAT!?” Pepper yelled at the same time Natasha yelled, “WHAT THE HELL, HAP!”

“I--I didn’t--” Panicking, Happy looked at Natasha, ”I was trapped between a rock and hard place with you two. I couldn’t tell you Pepper had preeclampsia or that Tony had been born months premature... that Pepper was teetering between life and death-- My world was falling apart and I couldn’t do the same thing to you. You were sick enough as it was and I couldn’t add on. No one knew what you went through in Afghanistan but it was eating you from the inside and I couldn't make it worse. You left before I had a chance to tell you what happened. It wasn’t like i knew you were going to disappear…”

Pepper still looked murderous. “Even if you didn’t tell Natasha why didn’t you tell me that she didn’t know? I never understood why she left and you let me believe she cut me out of her life even though she knew what was going on.”

“SHE LEFT,” Happy lost it “AND DIDN’T TELL US WHY! I was just as cut up about it as you were. We didn’t talk about her for months, all of it was a taboo topic. It was just as painful for me that she left as it was for you and I didn’t think it mattered anymore.”

“Can we just let it go?” Natasha said, “It’s fucked up that I didn’t know but I’m pretty sure I would have done the same thing anyway. I wasn’t in a good place. I don’t blame you for not telling me.”

Pepper turned back toward her, crying again. “No we cannot just ‘let it go’, Natasha. You can’t just waltz back into our lives like nothing happened. You died and then you left and nothing is OK now. I-- Natasha you were my person when you disappeared and now… I don’t know how to let you back in.”

“I’m not laboring under the delusion that we can just go back to the way things were before I left, or even before Afghanistan, but I-- I need your help. Just let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Pepper spat. 

“Steve,” Natasha shouted over her shoulder, “you can come in here now.”

Both Pepper and Happy turned as Steve walked in the room, Ian tucked up under his chin.

“I don’t know how up on The Avengers you guys are, but this is Steven Rogers, better known as Cap--”

“--tian America. Yeah, I know.” Pepper said. “Um, not to pry or anything, Captain Rogers, but why are you holding a baby?”

“This is Ian but I think Natasha should really be telling you who he is.” Steve crossed the room, planted a quick kiss on Natasha’s temple, and sat on the couch. 

Pepper looked completely taken aback. Happy had a hand on her shoulder, trying to prop her up.

“Can we all just sit down so I can tell you about this?” Natasha asked. “I want to tell you everything but it’s a long story and I’m still freaking out.”

The others shrugged and Happy steered Pepper into an armchair, perching himself on the arm next to her. 

Relief flooded Natasha’s system and she settled down next to Steve on the couch, taking his free hand. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and started in on the story. 

She explained everything that happened in Afghanistan, every gory detail down to the miscarriage, about how the therapy in rehab convinced her that she needed to take a step back, about how she’d been Iron Man since she’d gotten to New York, about her second kidnapping by the Skull and that she needed to stay dead for the time being. She told them everything.

“When the Skull had me, he made it clear that they’d succeeded using Steve’s DNA instead of the Skull’s. Somehow between the night they dumped what they thought was my body in Central Park and the end of the Battle of New York Ian ended up in Steve’s bed back at the Avengers Mansion.”

Pepper cleared her throat, “That’s a lot to take in, Nat.” Calling her ‘Nat’ was a good sign. “So Ian is yours and you’re keeping him?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to raise him with Captain America?”

“You can call him Steve, and yes, I am.”

Pepper smiled. “I’m really happy for you, Nat. I can’t believe how much has changed.” She turned to Steve, “Can I-- can I hold him?”

“Of course.” Steve said. He walked over and transferred Ian into Pepper’s arms and sat back down next to Natasha. He threw his arm around her shoulder and pulled her in next to him, tucking her head under his chin. “I told you it’d be OK,” he whispered into her hair. 

“He has your nose,” Pepper said, her voice cracking. Tears were streaming down her face as she rocked Ian in her arms. “He’s beautiful, Nat.”

Natasha smiled back at her. “That’s cause he looks like Steve.” 

Happy laughed. “He looks like both of you.”

“Thanks, Hap. I still have a favor to ask. I have to stay dead, for the time being, and SE needs to replace me as CEO. I never changed my will so you’re still named as my successor, Pepper.”

Pepper looked up at her. “You named me as your successor?”

“Umm, yes. I kind of forgot to tell you. I did it just after Afghanistan. You were always the most important person, Pep, and I couldn’t imagine someone other than you taking over for me if something happened.”

“And you never told me?”

“I never had the chance. The whole rehab thing happened and it never crossed my mind again. It wouldn’t have mattered though, I’d always want it to be you.” Natasha hesitated, so much depended on their answer to her next question. “Will you come to New York and run SE for me? I need your help, Pep. I don’t think we can do this without you.”

Pepper finally peeled her gaze away from Ian and looked up at Happy. The two seemed to have some kind of telepathic conversation because a second later Happy sighed and said “If it’s really what you want.”

“It is.” Pepper assured him. She looked back at Natasha, “Of course we’ll come to New York but I don’t want to take over from you. You’ll go crazy if you have to stay hidden away without ties to SE. Can I just be a figurehead?”

“If that’s all you want to do for now, yes. But I’m warning you. Even when we do finally figure this out and I can come back from the dead for the second time, I don’t want that job back. I was kind of hoping we could just make you a permanent fixture at the company.”

“That’s-- that’s a lot to take in, Nat. Isn’t the whole thing kind of your legacy?”

“We both know I’ve always been happier when I can stay in the lab for days at a time. I’d rather leave the day to day to someone I trust.”

They hammered out the rest of the details while Ian slept in Pepper’s arms. Pepper and Happy would close up their lives in Malibu and move to New York when SE came calling-- Natasha wasn’t sure how long the board would push to ignore her request before they caved to the inevitable. Happy would be hired on as SE’s head of security and Pepper, with Natasha’s help, would take over as CEO.   
\--  
Steve and Natasha headed back to New York the following morning and called a team meeting the minute they got back to the mansion where they broke the news of Steve’s move to the the group.

“He’s moving out and that’s final!” Natasha yelled over the murmurs of dissent. 

“Wasn’t the whole point of us all shacking up here to become a closer team? You don’t even have to play corporate puppet anymore. Wouldn’t it make more sense for the two of you to just, I don’t know, sleep in the same room here?” Clint complained. 

“Considering I flashed you when you wouldn’t believe I was Iron Man do you really think me shacking up with my boy toy in the same house as you is a good idea?” Natasha spat back. 

Steve flushed but didn’t comment. 

“All things considered I think we should just go along with this.” Bruce added. No one needed to know about his classified amount of intel on this specific turn of events, but the support was appreciated. 

“Fury never said it was mandatory that we live here anyway. Steve’s free to do what he wants and I’m not forcing him to move to the tower. For what it’s worth the towers not that far and we’re still going to be holding tactical and training meetings here on a daily basis. This is more of a rearrangement of sleeping situations. It probably won’t impact the team.”

“God knows you’re annoying enough for the both of you, Stark, and you’ve never lived here.” Clint added. 

“See. Nothing’s going to change so will you all please unbunch your panties and grow up?” Natasha added. 

The meeting broke up and she and Steve made their way upstairs to finish packing his room. 

“I have one more idea,” she added once the door was closed. 

“What’s that?” Steve asked. 

“I’ve been toying around with the idea of an artificial butler to run the mansion like Jarvis does back at the tower. I have a program I’ve been streamlining for the armor and I want to instal it here, that way we can stay in constant contact with the house.”

“I don’t understand why you haven’t already done that.” 

“He wasn’t ready before now. JARVIS-- yes I know that’s confusing-- is a learning program and he’s probably the closest thing possible to a true artificial intelligence and I needed more time to get his coding just right. But he’s installed in the suit and he was instrumental during the Battle of New York. I think he’s ready but I have a tendency to go a little mad-scientist with stuff like this so I figured I should run it by my moral compass.”

Steve laughed. “It’s good to know I’m your moral compass. Pretty sure I’ll be using that to my advantage more than you thought I would. But I think it’s a great idea. If it’s working in the suit there’s no reason it wouldn’t work here.”

“I’m glad you said that.” Natasha smiled at him and added, “JARVIS, please tell Captain Rogers hello.”

“Good afternoon, Captain.” The vaguely familiar voice of the AI filtered through the speakers.

Steve jumped and looked around the room trying to find the source of the voice. 

“You already installed it. Why am I not surprised?” 

“Because I am constantly full of surprises and you love me for it.”

Steve leaned down and kissed her. “Well I do love you.”


	17. Demons

“It is impressive that you evaded us for so long,” Zola accent always thickened when he was close to his breaking point, “Now answer me. Where did you leave the child?”

Bucky looked up at the man as he struggled against the restraints but said nothing. Zola’s control issues were always the most tedious part of all this. Including his most recent lucid episode, he’d come back to himself four times since Zola made him the Winter Soldier; he’d caused a lot of trouble for HYDRA in Warsaw and Minsk back in the seventies. But this time it had been more than two decades since he had remembered who he really was.

The black eyes of the scientist next to him were calculating and cold. Zola never cared much for his well-being but Bucky knew he was intent on controlling his creation to his dying breath; if Zola had his way Bucky wouldn’t scratch his ass without permission.

“I tire of your insubordination. Answer the question.”

Bucky glared at him out of the corner of his eye and clenched his jaw. There wasn’t anything Zola could say while he was lucid that would get him to talk. The bastard could torture him for all he cared; Bucky wasn’t saying a fucking thing.

“I hope you realize that you make me do these things to you. I do not wish to but you always force my hand,” Zola said, taking a seat at a panel of switches. “If you will not cooperate willingly then I will have to remind you where your loyalties lie.”

Zola flipped the switch and Bucky’s whole body went ridged as a jolt of electricity coursed through him. It wasn’t long before Bucky’s nose started to bleed and he was struggling to stay conscious. Zola was still talking and it took more effort to pay attention than he was willing to admit.

“...answer my questions we will have to continue. Lucky for you my new pet project disappeared right under my nose. I have time for nothing but you.”

Without really meaning to, Bucky barked out a laugh.

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose as Bucky’s laughter grew into something manic.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Zola said as he flipped the intercom switch. “Rumlow, bring in the reset kit.”

Bucky suddenly felt nauseous and had to bite back bile as Rumlow walked in a second later, a black gear bag swung over his shoulder.

“This time, Soldat, I expect this to stick. I don’t know what brought Barnes back but my patience with you has worn thin. You might have been my first success but I will not hesitate to snuff you out if forced to,” Zola warned as he hooked Bucky up to the machine. He flipped a switch and Bucky’s world went black.

* * *

An hour later Zola was seated at his desk, concentrating on a report, when the Skull swept into his office, two agents on his heels.

“The soldier tells me your experiment is with the Avengers. Apparently Barnes still nurses a soft spot for his old friend. Recovering the child should be simple.”

“If you say so,” said Zola as he glanced up from his reading, “Who are they?”

“I no longer trust your soldier. These two have been handpicked to serve as the recovery team. Neither has been employed by SHIELD so the odds that the Avengers will recognize them is low. They’re the best option we have.”

Zola looked up from his reading again, his eyes sliding over the two hovering just outside the threshold of his office. A man, a little old for Zola’s liking, and a woman who was far too short. They looked like they could blend into a wall.

“If you say so,” and he returned to his reading.

The Skull lost his very short temper with Zola and slammed his palms onto the desk, tumbling the stack of folders at Zola’s elbow to the floor.

“I do say,” the Skull sneered, “and you will be the one to ensure their success. You will do everything to retrieve that child. Not a month ago you assured me it was the perfect solution to our problems and now you sit here as if its loss is nothing. I did not allow you to hide in your laboratory for over a year to allow your soldier to sabotage our plans.”

“The soldier, sir, was always your idea. I just perfected it. If he is anyone's, he is yours.”

The Skull slapped Zola across the face before clenching his fists and spitting through his teeth, “You may have brought me back out of loyalty but I owe you nothing. You would do well to remember that. These two, Agent Parker and Agent Reilly, are going to find that child and you will give them anything they need to do so successfully, no matter the cost.”

“Yes, sir,” Zola replied, taking a serious effort to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

As quickly as he entered, the Skull left Zola’s office. The two agents hovered by the door for a moment before seating themselves at Zola’s desk and shutting the door behind them.

“The way I see it,” began Agent Parker, “We have one option. We cause a distraction to lure the Avengers out and take the child when they aren’t looking.”

“Hardly what I had in mind.” replied Zola.

* * *

The following day Agents Parker and Reilly were met behind the Skull’s compound by a town car and handed their brief packets. The security detail for Ms. Potts, the new interim-CEO of Stark Enterprises, consisted of seven agents and they would be reporting to an agent named Sitwell.

The day went mostly as planned. They were given an orientation tour consisting of visiting three different cafeterias, two staff break rooms, and how to traverse the labyrinth of hallways and elevators. Agent Hendricks, their escort, was careful to point out the elevator that led to the top of the tower (read: penthouse).

“That elevator was exclusively for the use of Ms. Stark and, now, her guests. It is protected by a biometric security system and, rumor has it, that an unauthorized attempt at using it renders the person unconscious for days,” Hendricks warned.

The tour finished back in the lobby where they met with Sitwell for the first time. They were outfitted with enough weapons to take out a small army and loaded in the back of a black SUV that would tail Ms. Potts for the remainder of the day.

“Zola has asked that I ensure you have access to the penthouse,” Sitwell said as he pulled the SUV away from the curb, “SHIELD likes to think they have full control over who has access but I’ve managed to find a loophole and Agent Parker’s been given full access.”

“Why do we need access to the penthouse? The doc told us we needed access to the mansion,” Reilly asked, staring out the window.

“Ultimately yes, but the Skull never got the information he wanted out of Stark before she died and he wants any possible information on the Avengers Initiative that might have been left lying around in her personal quarters,” said Sitwell.

“Fair enough.”

“Next Thursday the Avengers will be attending a press junket in Los Angeles and the mansion should be mostly empty. There is no indication that anyone outside the Initiative has knowledge of the child and we can be fairly certain that it will not accompany the group to California. Once we’ve recovered the child you will be transferred back to Europe and given separate deep cover assignments.”

“Understood,” they replied in unison.  
  
After they were dismissed for the day, Parker and Reilly returned to the tower under the guise of “getting their bearings” and hid on one of the staff floors until most of the lights were turned off. When Parker’s watch chimed midnight he pulled out his pistol, checked the clip, and turned to Reilly.

“You ready?” he asked.

She looked up at him, a smile playing on her lips.

They took off down the hall to the elevator and punched the up button, the doors opening seconds later as if it had been waiting for them. From there Parker allowed the biometrics to scan his iris and prick his finger. It analyzed him for a second before shutting the doors and addressing them both.

“Welcome, Agent Parker,” a disembodied voice chimed in welcome. “May I ask why you are attempting to enter Ms. Stark’s personal residence?”

Parker looked around the elevator, unable to identify the source of the voice. “Just following orders,” he replied.

“Very well. My protocols do not allow me to override the lift when it has been accessed by someone with the proper biometric credentials but I feel obliged to warn you that I have alerted the Initiative to your presence. I suggest that you prepare yourself,” the voice said, a hint of sarcasm thinly veiled behind the threat.

Reilly looked up at Parker. The anticipation of what would great them in the penthouse lit a fire in her chest; making the whole world click into place for her. This was when she was at her best. Subterfuge and intrigue be damned, she preferred hand-to-hand combat. She was built for this.

The lift dinged a few minutes later and the doors slid open to reveal nothing; no one was waiting for them. The lights were all off and the place looked abandoned. The elevators threats seemed unfounded.

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Parker said over his shoulder.

“I know… I’m a little disappointed,” Reilly replied. “Let's go. There has to be something useful here.”

Under closer inspection it was clear the penthouse was still in use but had been cleaned to within an inch of its life. The air conditioning was still on, there was a mound of blankets on the couch that looked somewhat out of place, and the fridge had recently been stocked. Farther in there were even a few lights still left on.

They rummaged through Stark’s personal office, through her bedroom and ensuite bathroom, and tried to gain access to her lab, but failed on all accounts. The disembodied voice warned them when they tried to break the glass by the lab door that doing so would trip off any number of countermeasures but wouldn’t elaborate. In short, not worth it. The whole evening had been a bust and, if Parker’s gut feeling was right, they didn’t have much more time before the Avengers were going to show up.

“There’s nothing here. Let’s get out of here before our cover’s blown,” Reilly suggested, accepting defeat.

By some miracle they were neither intercepted on their way out of the tower nor arrested when they left. They half expected the disembodied voice to cause problems the following day but it appeared as if it didn’t have any influence in the public areas of the tower.

* * *

The events following the attack on New York seemed to slow the city down; made it more cautious. Beyond ensuring the paparazzi never invaded Ms. Potts’ personal space, Parker and Reilly’s services were generally unneeded.

A few days before the Avengers left for LA, Ms. Potts had a meeting scheduled at the mansion and only took a skeleton security detail that consisted of just Parker and Reilly.

The house was huge; overwhelming. It spanned the entire block and Parker instinctively knew the time window they’d been given to take the child wasn’t going to be enough; it would take them an eternity just to search the house, let alone the grounds.

It was useful recon work but the farther they got into their assignment, the less confident Parker became that the outcome would be as cut and dry as Zola made it sound.  
—  
That Thursday Ms. Potts followed the Avengers to the private airfield and saw them off. From there she dismissed Parker and Reilly as she planned to spend the rest of her day shut away in her office and the two of them made their way back to the mansion, easily slipping through a side door.

After six hours of searching they started to feel like they’d been sent on a wild goose chase.

“Do you think the Winter Soldier was lying? I doubt anyone younger than 25 has ever even been here,” Reilly complained.

“I doubt he was lying. Zola seemed convinced that the Avengers would be above killing a child but I see no reason why they would bother to keep it. They seem to have much more to deal with and the interference of a child would only mess with their way of life. It’s what I would have done,” Parker replied.

“We’d better tell Zola then. There’s nothing here.”

The two made their way out of the mansion back to Brooklyn, and settled themselves in Zola’s office when they failed to find him elsewhere in the compound. He stormed in a while later and slumped down at his desk, clearly not noticing their presence on his couch.

Parker coughed a moment later, “There was no child.”

Zola jumped, clearly startled out of deep thought. “That is impossible. There is nothing that would indicate the Avengers would get rid of it. You are absolutely sure there were no signs it had been kept there?”

“Absolutely,” said Reilly, “The entire assignment was pointless. Nothing about either building would indicate that the Avengers have ever had a child living with them.”

“Then we use Plan B,” Zola said, rising from his chair.

He motioned for the two to follow him, leading them down several flights of stairs into a sub basement. He opened a few doors with his fingerprint and led them into a dimly lit corner room lined with shelves. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked a heavy metal box. When he turned around he had what looked like a metal pipe held in his hands and set it down on the table in front of him.

“This is the Zeitgeist. We’ve permanently borrowed it from Reed Richards but I have not finished testing it and it remains our only prototype. It is much more important that we retrieve the child so the sacrifice must be made,” Zola said, almost more to himself than the room at large. “It is not complicated to use. Come here and let me show you.”

The two pushed closer and Zola set about explaining how to use the device. Reilly felt it was simple enough, but did not understand why Zola was telling them this until he laid out the rest of his plan.

“You will use the Zeitgeist to return to the day the soldier abducted that child and stop him by any means necessary to bring it back to me in my office. You will explain to me why you are there with the child and hand me this,” he shoved a small piece of sealed paper into Parker’s hand, “Do not open that. There are a few, minor, repairs that have to be made to the device before you can use it. I will bring it to you when it is ready. Go wait out in the hall.”

A few moments later Zola reappeared and handed the device to Parker, “You cannot use this down here, I fear it will react with too many of my other projects. Leave Brooklyn. When you are several miles away it will be safe to use it. If this fails we are out of options and, possibly, out of time.”

Parker nodded and grabbed Reilly’s wrist, leading her out of the sub-basement, back up to ground level, and off the compound. They grabbed a cab and headed toward midtown, jumping out at a random street corner to duck into an alley.

“At least we get to fight someone today. Come on. Let’s get this over with,” Reilly said as Parker pulled the Zeitgeist out of his jacket pocket.

Parker looked over at her, her small frame looked electrified and her eyes were alight with excitement. He was about to activate it when movement from the other side of the alleyway grabbed his attention. Turning, he saw Edwin Jarvis, Ms. Stark’s former butler, hop into a town car clutching what could only be described as a diaper bag. He nudged Reilly’s arm and pointed toward the town car just as the door shut.

Clarity hit Parker upside the head like a wooden beam. It should have been obvious from the get go that the butler had something to do with the disappearance of the child. SHIELD had several safe houses and it wouldn’t be insane to assume they were keeping the child there.

Reilly grabbed his wrist and yanked him off in the direction of the town car. Maybe, just maybe, this was the answer and they could avoid using Zola’s time travel device; He for one wasn’t thrilled about having to use a prototype to travel in time, much less one stolen from Reed Richards.


End file.
